St Patrick's Day
by Pooty the Monkey
Summary: What if what you wanted was right there all along? Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger make a deal just as they've given up on ever finding true love. What they didn't expect was to find love in an unexpected place- each other.
1. Introduction

**Author's Note: **Hello! This is my first ever story to be posted on fan fiction, although I am not new to the world of fan fiction or writing. I am very excited about this story, as I worked for a while on trying to come up with a good concept to finally post. Then it hit me one day while listening to one of my favourite CDs (John Mayer's _Room for Squares_). I do hope that you enjoy this, and for those of you who know the song that this story is based on, never fear!! It will be longer than just a few chapters. Please, please, please, for the love of the Chudley Cannons, review this story!!! I need and love feedback!! 

**BEWARE!!!** Slightly crazed author on the move!! Be on the lookout for acts of randomness and insanity!!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. If I did, I probably would not be sitting at home and writing fanfiction. Aha! on the contrary, I would be off gallivanting in the city while "Get This Party Started" plays in the background to no avail, gorgeous men who happen to look like Ron Weasley, Brad Pitt, Hugh Jackman and Heath Ledger throwing themselves at my feet, and all the royalties of Harry Potter and Co. to spend wherever I like on whatever I like!! But, seeing as I'm a poor student and am certainly not imaginative enough to come up with Harry Potter, I'm here writing for fanfiction and making up lame disclaimers. 

**PS-** Special thanks to my dear, dear, very close, personal friend _WeeIrishLass _(her stories kick butt!) for beta-reading this story for me, being a sounding board, and helping me to work out some plot kinks!  

**Summary: **What if what you thought you wanted really was right under your nose all along? Such is the case for 27-year-old Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger who are thrown together under a very unexpected circumstance. Soon, they find themselves making a deal with each other and facing yet another unexpected plot twist- they begin to fall in love, just as they've given up on it.

Here comes the cold 

_Break out the winter clothes_

_And find a love to call your own._

_You- Enter you_

_Your cheeks a shade of pink_

_And the rest of you in powder blue_

_Who knows what will be _

_But I'll make you this guarantee_

_No way November will see our goodbye_

_When it comes to December it's obvious why_

_No one wants to be alone at Christmastime_

_In the dark, on the phone_

_You tell me the names of your brothers_

_And four favourite colures_

_I'm learning you_

_And when it snows again_

_We'll take a walk outside_

_And search the sky_

_Like children do_

_No way November will see our goodbye_

_When it comes to December it's obvious why_

_No one wants to be alone at Christmastime_

_And come January we're frozen inside_

_Making new resolutions a hundred times_

_February, won't you be my Valentine?_

_And we'll both be safe 'til St. Patrick's Day_

_We should take a ride tonight around the town_

_And look around at all the beautiful houses_

_Something in the way that blue lights_

_On a black night can make you feel more_

_Everybody, it seems to me, just wants to be _

_Just like you and me._

_No way November will see our goodbye_

_When it comes to December it's obvious why_

_No one wants to be alone at Christmastime_

_And come January we're frozen inside_

_Making new resolutions a hundred times_

_February, won't you be my Valentine?_

_And we'll both be safe 'til St. Patrick's Day_

_And if our always is all that we gave_

_And we someday take that away_

_I'll be alright if it was just 'til _

St. Patrick's Day 

_-John Mayer, "St. Patrick's Day"_

St. Patrick's Day Introduction 

****

****

Ron Weasley, the Auror, apparated into his flat after three long weeks away. Ron Weasley, the Auror, kicked his duffel bag into his closet. Ron Weasley, the Auror, grabbed a butterbeer from the refrigerator. Ron Weasley, the Auror, had dreams of falling asleep and never waking again. 

But Ron Weasley, the Friend, picked up a quill and piece of parchment to write a quick note to his best friend, Hermione Granger, who would then relay the message to Harry, who was certainly not as worried as the former. Pig, the namesake of his beloved pet (may he rest in peace) was flying around Ron's head in circles, just dying to fly off somewhere. 

"Take this to Hermione," Ron said, stroking his owl's head. Pig hooted, and was off. 

Ron sighed and looked around his freakishly neat apartment. Yes, Hermione had been here. Little touches of her were everywhere- from the couch cushions _without_ the Chinese food stain (from the last time that Harry was over), to the lack of sour milk in the fridge, to the neat stack of mail on the counter. Ron always gave her a few instructions about his mail, as she would always come over anyway: pay the bills, via his Gringotts account, and say 'no' to the invitations, unless they were interesting or family related. She would always respond the same way- _"What am I, your secretary?"_- and their verbal sparring would continue per usual, although Ron had learned over the years how to be the one to end the arguments. He would kiss her on the cheek and grin at her, saying, "Thank you, Hermione." Not being able to resist the Weasley "charm" she would smile a watery smile, and warn him with a shaky voice to please do be careful and send an owl as soon as he arrived home safely. He never once asked her to clean, but figured that when she came over to sort his mail, she couldn't stand the messy sight of his flat and before she could stop herself, scrub the entire place clean. 

He sorted through the mail that had been neatly stacked and separated by day (he was surprised that it wasn't alphabetized as well) and found an interesting note from his mother:

_Dear Ron,_

_Hope all is well with you, dear, when you get this note. Harry and Ginny have recently told everyone that they have news that they would like to tell us over dinner, but that they want you to be there. Whenever you get home, send me an owl so we can set everything up. _

_Your father and I are supposing that they're finally going to make it official. It took them long enough, if you ask me._

_We all miss you, and hope that you have been careful- if anything happened to you, dear, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself. Why couldn't you have gotten a nice job at the Ministry so your poor old mother wouldn't worry so much? Of course, you know that your father and I are both very proud of you. _

_Love and Miss you,_

_Mum_

Harry and Ginny. Ron chuckled and shook his head. Now _that_ had thrown him, and the media, for that matter, for a loop. Why, everyone knew that the hero always got the girl- rather, everyone except Harry Potter and Hermione Granger knew that. For years, they had insisted to anyone and everyone that would listen that there was nothing more than platonic feelings when it came to their relationship. But even a portion of Ron's mind believed that one day the two of them would realize that they were crazy about each other. That never happened, of course, because Harry realized that he was crazy about Ginny Weasley. 

So, logically, that left Ron and Hermione to get together. Also, for years, they had both been insisting that that was as improbably as Harry and Hermione getting together. Ron used simple excuses, like Hermione not being his type. This was true, he fancied himself as a blond hair, blue eyes kind of man, like his current girlfriend, Chloe. It wasn't that Hermione wasn't attractive- no, she was beautiful, and smart, and funny, and courageous. She wasn't the typical high-maintenance girl that he dated, who was afraid to break a nail or get dirty; Hermione never minded that. In fact, quite often she revelled in it. Then, on the other hand, Hermione, she dated intellectual men with PhD's, were attending universities for their third masters degree, those kind of men. And they all had names like David, Christopher, Alan, Richard, Simon, Edward, Jonathan. Not anything that was one syllable- Ron. Never were their names shortened to Dave, Chris, Rich, Eddie or Jon. No, they were said at length, as if to prove their intellectual worth. They weren't funny, redheaded or apt to stick their foot in their mouths. No, in fact, they weren't much fun to talk to at all (unless you were Hermione and could talk about everything with them), most of them had brown, black or blond hair, as well as wire-rimmed glasses, they usually lugged around heavy books, and they were always sickeningly eloquent.

Besides, Ron had analysed the situation of a relationship with Hermione to death (and he was sure that she had done the same). For years, all that he had heard from his family, who had been pushing for their relationship for years, was how wonderful the two of them would be together, how he really should get a move on, as she wasn't going to be waiting forever, and how he was so thick for not realizing how wonderful Hermione was. She was a great best friend, he would say. A best friend, nothing more. If he had a knut for every time that he heard, "Well, you know what they say…best friends make the best lovers…" he wouldn't have to work another day in his life. 

Hermione opened the morning paper at the breakfast table as she sipped her coffee and munched granola. Life was good. Harry and Ginny would soon be announcing their engagement (as their best friend, she was privy to this information), Ron had safely returned home at 3:30 that morning, and…

"Hermione? Are you awake already?" 

"In the kitchen, dear," she replied. 

…Andrew was good. Her boyfriend for five months now, Andrew Lewis was everything that Hermione had ever wanted. Tall, handsome, intelligent, responsible, had a stable and promising job, was a wonderful conversationalist, interested in everything that she was. What could be better? Oh, that's right- life would be substantially better if only people would realize that she and Ron Weasley were about as improbable as _KwikSpell_ actually working. Since the Weasleys had met Andrew, although they had found him quite charming, which will be said of one who looks like a young Robert Redford, they had not kept their disapproval that Hermione was dating Andrew, rather than their youngest son hidden from Hermione, or Andrew, for that matter, causing him to question everything and need reassurance from Hermione that she truly felt nothing for Ron or Harry (of course the subject had come up) other than purely platonic, sibling-like feelings. 

Except for the one instance… but she didn't ever talk about that. They had both made a pact never to say a word since that night before graduation when Harry Potter and Hermione Granger decided to experiment. Did all of those rumours have some truth in them? People wouldn't be saying anything about them unless they had some iota of truth… maybe they saw what the two didn't. A closed-lipped, experimental, passionless kiss ended up turning into a steamy, hungry, needy, desperate snog-session which they realized after prying themselves away from the other had no feelings other than anxiety, lust and desperation. They openly admitted how wonderful it was, how much they had enjoyed it, and would have loved to turn it into a no-strings-attached one night stand, but principal prevented it. There were awkward moments to follow, filled with every sort of tension, but after six months of separation as Hermione took on an apprenticeship in Athens, they had both moved on and realized that there was nothing to it- it was just an experiment, a meaningless kiss. They'd both had and given others, what should make theirs any different? 

And by that point, Harry had finally realized just how much he loved Ginny Weasley. Hermione smiled at the thought of her two friends. She was everything that he needed, and he was everything that she's ever dreamed of, literally. 

If the Weasleys had a celebration when they found out about their daughter marrying the man that they had been hoping for her since they first met him when he was eleven, then she couldn't imagine what would happen if she and Ron ever decided that they'd might as well get together. But Ron wasn't her type. He was just so…Ron. He wore dirty socks, his apartment was never clean, and he liked Quidditch, for cripes' sake. But no one could make her laugh like he could. No one could stop and start her world with just a look; no one could shatter her world with a grin. No one could make her heart beat like he could. But no. Ron was her best friend, just as Harry had been. When he kissed her those ten years before, she felt as she could have stayed in _his_ arms forever; she felt her heart beating in her throat, and had they not controlled themselves, she would have gone to bed with _him in an instant- but only in that instant. Surely, if she felt that way about Harry with just a kiss, while still thinking of him as her best friend, then what she felt for Ron was just…just being worried with the danger that he was in. She was probably just vulnerable at this pivotal point in her relationship with Andrew, and was having second thoughts, transmitting that nervous energy to Ron, the closest man that she knew well enough to have feelings for that wasn't already taken. True, he had a girlfriend, but the two of them were having some problems. It wouldn't last much longer. _

But that didn't matter to her, because she and Andrew were going to last. 

_Dear Hermione,_

_Since Ron is home now, and Harry and Ginny will need the future best man to be there when the announcement is made, we'll be having dinner tonight at the Burrow at 7:00. If you would please arrive at 6:30 to help minimize the chaos, it would help very much. Feel free to bring that charming boyfriend of yours; there will be plenty of food._

_Love from,_

_Molly_

Of course, Mrs. Weasley was just being polite- she probably wanted Andrew there like she wanted Harry and Ginny to break up. She stroked their owl, Tawny, and gave it a piece of toast before letting her fly away to Ron's apartment, most likely, in order to deliver the other letter tied around its' leg. 

"Good morning, love," her freshly showered boyfriend said, walking into the kitchen and kissing Hermione on the kiss. She turned her head to meet his mouth with her own in a sweet good morning kiss. "How would you like to meet me for dinner tonight?" He asked, taking the business section of _The Daily Prophet from the stack that she had already completed. _

"Actually," she said, swallowing her coffee, "I'm going to the Weasleys for dinner tonight. Harry and Ginny are announcing their engagement, and I need to be there."

"The Weasleys? Ah, yes, the redheads."

She nodded. 

"Well, how does tomorrow night sound?" 

She smiled at him, saying, "Perfect." 

"I'm afraid, darling," he said, grabbing a piece of toast and swiping one of Hermione's commuter coffee cups, "That I have to run to the office. Thank you for a wonderful night. I'll see you tomorrow." He kissed her quickly and strode to the mantle where he kept his wand while in Hermione's town house. 

"You're not coming over tonight?" she asked, following him into the living room. 

He sighed, and turned around. "Hermione, love, is this that insecurity of yours creeping up again? Listen, just because I don't sleep with you every night, doesn't mean that I find you boring, unattractive or that I'm losing interest in our relationship. It's just that-"

"I understand, Andrew, and I'm not insecure. I just wanted to know if you would be here so I didn't stay at the Burrow to all hours, that's all," she cut him off, sighing. Andrew had graduated from Hogwarts six years ahead of her, and worked now as a psychologist. He never left his job, even when with Hermione, analysing everything that she said and did. It was one of his more annoying traits. That, and biting his nails.

"Oh…right. Well, see you tomorrow, then!" He kissed her quickly again, before disapparating. 

Ron apparated back home- his first home- at half past six that night, excited to see his family once again. Three weeks was a long time for a Weasley to have absolutely no contact with someone else. Three weeks was a long time for a Weasley not to see a Potter or a Granger, at that. 

Apparently, Hermione had arrived just as he had, for everyone who had been seated in the living room was standing and facing her as she made her rounds to the family. Ron leaned on the doorframe to watch her fluid and graceful movements. There was no denying how beautiful she was- how her thick, wavy hair spilled over her shoulders and swished like tassels as she moved from person to person, how her chocolate brown eyes danced with delight when she saw Ginny, as if the two women shared a secret that they were just bursting to tell; how her smile broadened when she hugged Harry and stood on tiptoes to kiss her best friend of sixteen years. 

"Ron!" his sister exclaimed, only just seeing him. He hugged her and winked at Harry over Ginny's shoulder. A look between the two men told everything- Harry and Ginny were engaged. Of course, everybody already knew this, but was just waiting for the two of them to say it. 

And when they did say it, even though it had been expected for years, there was such tumult that they were surprised that the neighbours didn't call the Muggle police. 

September, they were to be married in September. Hermione assumed that she would still be dating Andrew by then- she'd have a date for a Weasley wedding, for once. She would be the maid of honour, and Ron the best men. How would Andrew handle that? Seeing his girlfriend dance with a man that he certainly wasn't fond of and had suspected of sleeping with Hermione behind his back would not be good for the psychologist's psyche. 

Andrew.

It was the first time that she had thought of him all night. How could she, when one of the most handsome men that she knew, albeit, her best friend, was sitting right across from her? She found herself entranced by Ron on more than one occasion that evening. When he hugged her in greeting, she liked to think that he held her for a second longer than need be, but perhaps she was imagining things. And why did it matter to begin with? 

Andrew.

She couldn't stop herself from staring throughout the course of dinner. She was captivated by the deep blue sapphires that were his eyes, and how nicely the blue shirt that he was wearing, the one that she had bought him for his birthday when she insisted that he wear more blue, brought out the deep azure that stole her breath.

Andrew. She loved Andrew. 

And then there was his hair… it had driven her crazy for years, and had nearly been her downfall one night two years ago. The way one lock absently fell across his forehead, the way that she was just dying to run her fingers through it, the way that she was imagining how soft it would feel.

Andrew had nice hair.

And his smile. If there were ever one point in which she could stop the world, stop time, it would be when Ron smiled. The small dimple on his left cheek made him look younger, but the way his gorgeous eyes crinkled made it seem as if he had lived far more than anyone as young as he have should have. His smile could melt her, and there were times when she was sure that Fred, who was sitting to her right, would have to mop her off of the seat. 

His shoulders, broad and muscular…his jaw line, somewhat stubbly and strong… his hands, big and rough in contrast to her own… his…

Andrew. She loved Andrew.

"Hermione? Is that all right with you?" 

"Huh?" The most intelligent answer that Hermione Granger had ever graced the world with. Damn his smile. 

"Navy…is that colour all right with you?" 

Navy…Ron's eyes were navy…

"Yes, blue would be lovely…just lovely…"

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	2. Social Casualties

_" A simple friend wonders about your romantic history. A real friend could blackmail you with it." _

- _Unknown_

**Chapter One: ** Social Casualties

Ron apparated outside of a house that he'd spent more time at in the last ten years than he'd ever imagined. There were the nights spent laughing, fighting, watching cheesy Muggle movies, throwing spaghetti at Harry (when Hermione was out of the room, of course), and talking about anything and everything. And then there were the days- when they weren't working, that is. They'd make fun of Hermione's cooking, laughing at her cranky next door neighbour who looked older than dirt, wondering exactly how old Mr. Next Door was- needless to say, they spent more nights together, as it was usually the only time the three of them weren't at work.  If anyone had told him ten years ago that Hermione's house would be his favourite place besides the Burrow, he probably would have laughed in his or her face. He walked around to the front door, taking in everything, the light hue of crème paint, the white shutters and front deck, and flowers everywhere- flowerboxes, planted around the white picket fence, hanging baskets on the porch, sitting in pots next to the wicker chair, and lining the stone path that led to the front door. So full of life, throughout whatever happened- if that wasn't Hermione, then what was? He walked up the porch steps, ready to stretch out on the hanging swing and nearly sitting on Hermione's tabby cat, Milton.

"Sorry, there, Milty," Ron said, as if the cat could understand him. Even if it could, that wouldn't have made a difference; the little bugger hated Ron. Actually, he hated everyone except Hermione. Hissing, the tabby ran under the porch, pursuing a particularly daring garden gnome. 

Laying back on the swing, Ron remembered just why he loved being alive. It was a cool summer night in mid- August, and the sun had just retired to its' slumber on the other side of the world. Pinks, oranges and reds streaked the sky, a beautiful reminder that it would be returning tomorrow, and the next day and the next. When he was a young boy, Ron's mother used to tell him that the colours were the sun's dreams. Oh, it didn't matter that they couldn't tell what the sun was dreaming about, but it was certain that it was something wonderful. The young Weasley children would all lie in the dewy grass outside, trying to guess what it was that the sun was dreaming about. Bill would say that the sun was dreaming a great dream about some wonderful adventure in a faraway land; Charlie would tell everyone that it was dreaming about dragons- big, scary, fire-breathing dragons- and that was where the red and orange came from; Percy said that the sun just didn't dream; Fred and George would always come up with some crazy idea about what was going on in it's head, always different, and always entertaining. Ron always got very excited at his turn- he had to wait for five people to talk and he would be just bursting to tell everyone his idea. Ron's story was always the same- the sun was dreaming about a princess, a very pretty princess, but he could never seem to catch her. She would always run far, far away, and in his dream, the sun would have to chase her across the sky. 

"How does the story end, Ron?" his mother would ask, smiling at her youngest son. 

Ron would shake his head, sadly, "I dunno, Mummy. I just don't know." 

The smells of the flowers surrounding him filled Ron's nose as the night crept closer around him. He loved nighttime.  The sound of crickets chirping, night owls hooting and the giggling garden gnome, and the gentle rocking of the porch swing were threatening to lull him into a sleep, so he got up reluctantly, and let himself into Hermione's house. As it was his second house, of sorts, he decided to make himself comfortable. 

Hermione's house suited her in every way. There were pictures of everyone that she held dear hanging on the walls and sitting on tables. The colours were soft and relaxing, contrasting artistically with the dark colour of the hardwood floors. Being one who constantly had food on the brain, Ron walked into the kitchen and found three grocery bags on the counter with a note sitting next to them.

_Put these away? Had a call. Will be late. Sorry. _

- _Hermione_

Ah, so that was why Hermione wasn't bustling about in her typical crazy way to get ready for tonight's dinner party. 'Party' wasn't the best word, perhaps, to describe what it was that they had. Once a month, Harry, Ron and Hermione would have dinner together- a tradition that they had started three years ago and kept up. Over the past few months, Ginny had been joining them, and as things were getting more serious between Hermione and Andrew, the psychologist had been joining them as well. 

Ron busied himself with putting away the groceries, wondering what had pulled Hermione away. Perhaps a patient had flat-lined? No, Hermione worked in the Emergency Trauma Ward at St. Mungo's. Strangely enough, that was where she'd met Andrew nearly six months ago. He was visiting with one of his patients, a trauma victim who had tried to commit suicide, when Hermione came in. She had treated the same girl that Andrew was visiting. And, wouldn't you know it, here they were six months into a relationship thanks to one suicidal witch. 

Glancing at the clock, Ron realized that Hermione would not be home in time to make dinner. Why not help out a friend? He started cooking what Hermione had bought home for the night, and the salmon was broiling, decided that they would eat outside. Hermione's patio table in the back yard was big enough for everyone. As he was walking back inside, he heard a voice from inside the house. 

"Hermione, darling? Are you here?" 

Ron walked in to find a very confused Andrew Lewis holding flowers and looking around for his girlfriend. 

"Oh, honey! You shouldn't have!" Ron exclaimed as Andrew turned around and scowled. "Hermione had to go to work. I made dinner."

"Is it edible?" Andrew asked with a sneer that reminded Ron of Malfoy. 

Ron ignored this and went back to the kitchen to make the salad. It wasn't that he didn't like Andrew. He liked him all right, but he just got the feeling that he wasn't quite in the older man's good graces. Hermione had told him once that Andrew was jealous of the time that the two of them spent together. Andrew followed Ron into the kitchen and began hunting around for a flower vase, seeing as Hermione loved flowers, there had to be hundreds around. 

"Under the silverware drawer," Ron told him, as he sliced tomatoes. 

"Yes…erm, right," Andrew said with half of a smile as he opened said cabinet to find the stash of vases. 

"Her favourite is the glass one with the sunflowers painted on… but I'll bet that you knew that," Ron said, glad for the excuse of searching for carrots in the refrigerator to hide his smirk. 

"Thank you, but I can find it myself." 

"I was just saying…" Ron trailed of, dicing carrots. He glanced at the clock as he scooped the vegetables into the large bowl of salad. Harry and Ginny would be arriving shortly, Hermione still wasn't home, and it was getting dark. Putting down the cutting board and knife, he began to search through some of the higher cabinets until he found candles. "Here," he said, thrusting them into Andrew's hands. "Take these outside and light them, will you?"

Andrew turned and walked outside without another word, and came in moments later looking quite proud of himself. Quite concerned, the redhead turned to see what the cause of the self-gratification was and found the backyard practically glowing. Andrew had been quite productive, Ron saw, as he had lit the stone chiminea. Andrew stood in front of him with his hands clasped behind his back and rocking back and forth on the balls of his toes, smiling in that obnoxiously perfect way, as if just waiting for Ron to comment on his wonderful decision making skills, as the night was getting colder and some heat in the backyard would be nice.

"While your busy setting the mood, Andy," Ron said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, "Pick out some music, eh?" Lately, when Ron and Harry had been around Hermione's boyfriend, they had lightened up a bit on bashing the psychologist. It wasn't just him; all of Hermione's boyfriends had undergone such torture. Ron was the same way when it came to Ginny (which is what cause Harry to rethink his position as acting as a big brother, of sorts, when around one of Hermione's boyfriends). Ron and Harry figured that since Andrew had stuck around this long, he was for keeps. They should ease up on him, seeing as he didn't quit on Hermione just because of her friends, like a few other men had. In Hermione's experience with relationships, there were more first dates to count, but most of her blossoming relationships ended on the second date- the traditional night out with Harry and Ron. It was their way to weed out the wankers who were only after what all healthy males were after. If he wouldn't stick with Hermione just because her friends knew how to rib the guy, then he wouldn't stick around when things got tough. 

But Andrew had stayed. That, in and of itself, was quite commendable. 

"Hello?" He heard being called from the living room. Thank God. Ron walked out to meet Harry and Ginny, quite glad that someone was rescuing him from spending some 'quality time' with Hermione's boyfriend. 

"Where's Hermione?" Ginny asked as soon as she saw Ron.

"Not like I'm your brother…" Ron said, although his smile gave away his amusement. "She had an emergency call, but she'll be back. I cooked." 

"Is it edible?" Harry asked. 

"Ha ha ha. We all know that I'm a better cook than Hermione." 

"Here, here!" Ginny piped in. "Speaking of food, I'm hungry." Right on time, as if the oven knew never to mess with a hungry Weasley, a buzzer signalled the completion of dinner. Harry and Ginny made their way outside, and Andrew followed while sorting through CDs. Ron was on his way outside with plates when he heard a _pop!_ from the living room. Hermione, still in scrubs and lab coat, was looking quite flushed although very please with herself. Ron could only imagine whose life she had just saved. 

"Thanks for making dinner, Ron," she said, kissing him on the cheek in greeting. I'm going to go change; tell everyone I'll be out soon." 

"Hello, Hermione," Ron muttered with a smile as he walked outside. 

A few minutes later, just as an awkward silence was falling over Andrew, Hermione walked outside devoid of horrid green scrubs and now sporting her typical jeans and shirt. 

"I'm so sorry that I'm late, everyone," she apologized immediately. "You see, there was this critical care patient who had a reaction to the potion that we put him on, and we had to-"

"Eating!" Ginny warned, as a gesture for Hermione to please stop her story.

"Sorry," Hermione replied with a sheepish smile. She lowered her eyes as they met Andrew's with a shy smile. Ron inwardly groaned. It was a strange thing to watch your best friend fall in love in front of your eyes. Andrew rose and wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning in for a kiss.

"Eating!" Harry warned, as a gesture for Andrew to please refrain from snogging Hermione in his presence. The couple reluctantly took their seats as they relapsed into a somewhat strained, although pleasant conversation that drifted back to their Hogwarts years.

"You know, I don't remember you at Hogwarts," said Harry to Andrew.  "What house were you in?" 

"Ravenclaw," Andrew replied, "And, strangely enough, the only thing that I remember about ever seeing the three of you in Hogwarts was when they sorted you into Gryffindor, Harry." 

Ron nearly spit out his pumpkin juice. 

"You're not serious!" 

"No, I am," said a confused Andrew. 

"Do you mean to tell me," Ron continued, leaning in, "That you never went to a Quidditch match?"

"I never really enjoyed Quidditch." 

Ginny gasped, as Ron continued, "What about on feasts at the end of the year? Gryffindor won both years that we were in school together; Dumbledore mentioned all three of us by name in first year, and in second, why Hermione was petrified! How could you not remember?" 

"I was never very… social in school. I typically kept to myself and the library."

_Oh no…_ Ron thought, _Hermione's dating a Percy wannabe…_

He decided, upon reflection, that it was best not to voice this opinion. 

Dinner was going well, Hermione thought, and the fact that she didn't have to make it made the night all the better. She sat back and watched the interaction between her boyfriend and best friends, attempting to read Ron, Harry and Ginny's expressions. The three of them seemed to be enjoying themselves, and Andrew had managed to steer away from topics that generally rubbed Ron, by far the most explosive at the table, the wrong way. She was also quite enjoying his hand on her knee. 

As the meals were very close to being finished, a phone rang. Andrew soon found that it was his, and he excused himself to take the call. 

"Dessert, anyone?" Hermione asked, standing to clear the plates. Harry, Ginny and Ron also stood, to clear their own. "Oh no," Hermione chided them, "I'll do it; it's fine. Sit." She gathered up the plates, and Ron insisted on helping her, as he had cooked it. As they were walking inside, arms filled with dishes, Andrew was on his way out, manned with cell phone and jacket. 

"Hermione, love," he said, "I'm sorry; I've got to run. One of my patient… you understand, don't you love?"

Hermione nodded. 

Ron didn't understand.

"I'll see you soon," Andrew said, kissing her cheek and disapparating. 

Ron and Hermione walked inside to place the dishes in the sink. Before Ron could stop himself, he let his mouth slip again.

"Well _that_ was rude." 

Hermione shot him a death glare. "He cares about his patients, Ron," she told him, scrubbing down dishes manually. 

"Oh, I see," said Ron, joining in the scrubbing, "He cares about his patients… more than he cares about you." 

She glared at him again. "I would have done the same."

"No, you wouldn't have. Not the Hermione that I know." Ron removed the strawberry shortcake that Hermione had made earlier from the refrigerator and stole a lick of frosting. Strawberry shortcake was Hermione's specialty. 

"If someone's life was on the line-"

"He's a psychologist. Someone's life is not on the line if they've just seen their grandmother in the shower. That's hardly what I'd call life-threatening… although I can see your point; it certainly _would_ be traumatizing." 

Ron stared at her as she gave him the unimpressed look. But she cracked first, and had to smile, laughing quietly at the marvel that was Ronald Weasley. 

"Somehow I don't think that he would leave because of that." 

"Well he just did." 

"Stop, Ron," Hermione commanded, removing dessert plates from a cupboard. "Don't judge someone that you don't know."

"I know him well enough to know that he's not good for you." 

She set the plates on the counter, composedly, and turned to look at him, clearly not happy. 

"Excuse me? How is it that you presume to know what is and is not good for me?" she asked, her voice shaking in anger, although it remained at a normal volume. 

Ron shrugged. "I've known you forever. It's not that hard." 

"Look, Ron, if you think that you can just come in here and tell me how to live my life-"

"I'm not, Hermione. I'm not. But is Andrew what you really want? That's all I want to know. Is he really what you want?"

"Of course he is, Ron. I love him; he's all that I've dreamed of since I was ten years old."

"He's what you want? He can be all that you want?" 

"Yes, I've told you-"

"I don't think so," Ron said. "He's not right. Something doesn't fit."

"Then what _do_ I want, if you're such the expert, Weasley?" 

"That," Ron said, pointing out the window to the backyard. "That is what you want." 

Hermione smiled at the sight that was before her. Harry and Ginny were in each other's arms, gently swaying back and forth to the soft jazz music that was wafting through the yard. She watched as Ginny smiled when Harry spun her around. She saw the contentment in Harry's face when he rested his chin upon the top of Ginny's head that she had laid on his chest. He kissed her flaming red hair, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her smile broadened, and she tilted her head back as a light-hearted laugh trickled from her throat. Harry kissed her cheek, and then her neck. She laughed again, and swatted at his arm, saying something to him with a look that quite reminded Hermione of when she was eleven years old. Most likely, she was reminding the man of her dreams that her brother was right inside. Harry didn't appear to care though, as he spun her around once more, this time dipping her back on the final chord of the song. As she stood straight, he kissed her in a way that surely must have stopped her heart. As if afraid to break the spell that they, the music and the moonlight had cast, the rested their foreheads together, smiling a secret smile. 

"Now if you think that Andrew can be all of that to you, then fine," Ron was now saying. "Go off and marry him, move to your fancy house, have your freakishly smart children, go to your PTA meetings in your matching BMWs and live in the utopia of middle-class suburbia. But, Hermione, if he isn't everything that you want, if he can't be all that you've ever hoped for, then I'm asking you, as your best friend, please don't throw your life away for someone who doesn't… who doesn't stop your heart and doesn't love you as much as you deserve to be loved. You're an amazing woman, Hermione. You deserve better." 

She turned to look at him, now, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you." 

Ron had to grin. "For what?"

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest. "For caring so much." 

Ron chuckled as he returned the hug. "It comes with the territory," he told her. 

"But, really," she said, pulling away slightly to look him in the eye. "I _do_ love Andrew. I really do, Ron. This is it; all that I'll ever need. It's sweet of you to be protective, really it is… but… I'm a big girl now. I can take care of myself." 

"Just as long as you're sure," Ron prompted, only to be silenced by her broad smile. 

"I've never been more sure of anything. He's going to propose, you know."

"Really? Mione, that's wonderful. How do you know?"

She giggled in a very uncharacteristic way- but then again, Ron had never seen her this much in love before, and love can do strange things to people.

"He left his day planner here," she said as Ron fought the temptation to roll his eyes. Of course the man would have a day planner, "and he made dinner reservations for Friday night at my favourite restaurant, he had an appointment with a jeweller, and the other day, he excused himself to go to the bathroom, but I found him in my room, looking at my rings. It was so funny, to see him all flustered. He told me that I had small fingers, and then, as if he were being so smooth, he asked me how small were my fingers, exactly? What was my ring size? I had to keep myself from laughing in his face. And unless you start being nicer, then you're not invited to the wedding." 

"You're going to say yes?" 

"Well, obviously." 

Ron smiled. "Let's go outside," he said. "Harry and Ginny are probably wondering where we are."

He picked up the cake, leaving Hermione in charge of plates and forks.

"Ron," she said, stopping him before he could go back outside. 

"Hmmm?" 

He turned to face her, the door propped open with his foot, letting Milton the cat run inside. 

"I meant what I said," Hermione said, in her cryptic female way.

"About what?" 

"Thank you…for caring so much. Thank you."

He nodded and smiled with a glint in his blue eyes. "It comes with the territory."

**Author's Note: **And another chapter bites the dust! ***Spins mouse around by the tail and blows on the smoking clicker in manner of Clint Eastwood*** The feedback from the last chapter was awesome guys! Dare I say it? Keep it up! I tried to send an email response to all of you, but stopped somewhere around reviewer fifteen or so. There were just so many of you! ***Author puts arms over her head and lies in the corner of her room in the fetal position in an attempt to shield herself from the swarms of mass reviewers until she realizes that her computer is not attacking her. Sighs in relief*.** I had to say that it was hysterical to see you saying, _"Andrew should die"_ in your reviews, as my brother's name just happens to be Andrew (you can see why I would use his name for a character that, under principal, no Ron and Hermione shipper likes). Anyway, this is a really long AN, with one point- **_REVIEW!!!_**


	3. The Perilous Seating Arrangements of the...

**Author's Note: **Hey kids! Sorry that this chapter took a little long to post, but I've been a bit busy. Enjoy! And, for the love Ron Weasley, review! Let's see if we can break 100 for this chapter… lol. No, seriously, though. That'd be cool… * hint! * 

**Chapter Two: **The Perilous Seating Arrangements of the Weasley Family

"Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry! I didn't even realize!" Ginny apologized, setting the heavy box of freshly printed wedding invitations on the kitchen table of the Burrow. "I didn't even realize it until just now, and I-"

"Ginny," Hermione interjected, "Don't worry about it. I've had twenty-seven birthdays. Why should the twenty- eighth be any different? Besides, maybe it's just me, but I think that the wedding of two of my best friends- a once in a lifetime event- takes precedent over a birthday. There'll be another next year." 

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, apparating in and kissing Ginny on the cheek.

"Harry, did you know that our wedding is the night before Hermione's birthday?" Ginny asked, hands on her hips. 

"Yeah… what's the big deal? She understands, don't you Herms?" he asked as he protectively pulled Ginny close to him, nestling his chin in the hollow where her neck met her collarbone. Hermione had to smile at the couple. How could she be mad at them? They were too cute. 

"Yes… yes, I understand. Thank you, sir." The tall, redheaded man closed his cell phone and walked past the hostess to the small, candlelit table in the corner where a bombshell blond was sitting. 

"Sorry about that, love, but the director wanted me to-"

"It's all right," she said, smiling and taking his hands. "I'm just glad to be here with you. Oh, Ron, I've missed you so much. Don't go away so much, all right? I don't think that I can bare it." 

Ron smiled lopsidedly, and said, "Chlo, it's my job. I go when they tell me to."

Chloe Greenwood pouted slightly, batting her eyelashes. "But Darling, I nearly die every time that you go away." 

Ron sighed and sat back, letting go of her hands. "Look, Chloe, we've been over this time and time again. It's my job. It may be crap circumstances, crap pay, crap accommodations and crap timing, but I love it. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Not even me?" she asked quietly, her eyes meeting his. 

He sighed once more, and stole a quick glance at his watch. If they were talking about this before their waiter even brought water to their table, it would be a long night. "Let's just drop this, all right, and try to have a nice time. We don't need to talk about it now, anyway." 

"Fine," she said, resignedly. 

"Madame, Messieur," said the waitress, approaching their table with bread, cheese, and sliced fruit. She placed a glass of water in front of each of them. Ron ordered champagne and his meal. Chloe did the same, and they munched on French bread in silence. 

Chloe took a sip of her water, made a face, and said, "Eurgh. Tap water. You'd think that at a restaurant like this they could at least spare bottled water. Where's that waitress…"

"It's not that big a deal, Chlo," Ron said, soothingly. 

"I suppose not…"

"So, how was your week?" Ron asked. 

She frowned, and said, "They didn't like my designs… you know, the ones that I was telling you about, for the fall line." 

"Oh. That's too bad, Chlo, but I'm sure that there'll be other-"

"That's what you said last season." 

Chloe had been in the fashion business for years- first as a model, straight out of Hogwarts, until a curse during the war had left her with a minute scar above her lip. Still, according to the agencies, her face was unphotographable, so she entered designing. She was given her own line of clothing, and initially, it did well, until styles changed and her small boutique was rendered bankrupt. Now she was working freelance, designing clothes and submitting them to professional labels, in hopes for a permanent job. It hadn't quite taken off yet, to put it mildly. But Ron had been the ever-supportive boyfriend, offering a shoulder to cry on, ears willing to listen, and advice when she needed it. 

"Well it's true," Ron said, smiling at her, and tucking a strand of flaxen hair behind her ear. 

"How come," she said, with a bit of an edge in her voice, "You can give me opinions on my job, whereas, if I try to tell you anything about yours, you practically bite my head off?" 

Ron nearly spit out his water. 

"Because I'm not telling you to quit, that's why!" 

"But on _principle,_" she insisted, "If I can't give you advice about your job, then you should give me the same courtesy." She looked down at her lap and fussed with her napkin, before looking up with that same cool, statuesque stare that had made the camera love her. "Besides, I'm not telling you to quit. Just… reconsider." 

"I've been nothing if not supportive, Chloe, and for you to take a shot at me, an _irrelevant_ shot, at that, is just… is just…"

"Is just _what?_" 

"You know what?" He said, taking his napkin from his lap and tossing it on the table while pushing his chair away. "This isn't worth it. If all we're going to do is fight about my job, a job that I _love_, then this isn't going to work. Goodbye, Chloe. Have a nice night." 

He stood up, dropping enough money to cover the meal on the table and left the dining room to the apparation room. It wasn't worth it. 

"Harry has always been like my brother. Ginny has always… well, she's always been my sister. I can't think of anyone better to take care of my little sister than my best friend, and brother. We're here tonight to celebrate their engagement- about time, if you ask me. So, if you'll all raise your glasses to the bride and groom to be…" Ron raised his champagne flute and turned to the couple. "May you two have a wonderful life together, and may you name your first son Ron. I love you guys. Cheers." 

Everyone in the hall drank their champagne along with the best man and applauded. Life was good. Ron took his seat in between Harry and Hermione, slipping his arm around the back of her chair, as he was accustomed to. He winced when he heard Andrew clear his throat from the other side of her. He removed his arm apologetically, and Hermione kicked him playfully under the table. He kicked back, but not quite so hard. Hermione stifled a little giggle, causing Andrew to look reprovingly at them. Mr. Weasley was making a speech, and clearly, having fun was _not_ allowed. 

"They say," Mr. Weasley was saying, "That you're not losing a daughter, but gaining a son." He choked up, swallowing his words slightly. When he continued, most everyone else was just as tearful. "I've been preparing to gain a son for years now, ever since by daughter was born. What I wasn't prepared for, was gaining a son sixteen years before he actually married my daughter. I don't think that Ginny-"

He stopped, a small noise reverberating through the halls. Hermione turned crimson as Andrew stood and excused himself, exiting the back of the hall quickly, cell phone in hand. 

"Well," Mr. Weasley faltered, not quite sure of what to say. "Erm… tuck in!" Food magically appeared on everyone's plates. Ron was quite glad for the excuse to put something in mouth besides his foot. Hermione leaned across the table, apologizing profusely on behalf of Andrew. 

Ron exhaled as threateningly as he could through a mouthful of potatoes. _He'd better have a good excuse._

But they wouldn't hear Andrew's excuse, for he would not return to the hall that night. 

"Two for Uncle Wally, although we might need to order three plates. You know how much he can eat." 

Ginny laughed as she tallied three on the list. 

"So, we'll put Uncle Walter-"

"_Wally_," corrected Mrs. Weasley, laughing with Ginny.

"Right, _Wally_," continued Harry, "And Aunt… what's his wife's name?" 

Ginny laughed all the harder, as Mrs. Weasley choked out, "Zinnia." 

"And you're related to these people?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Well, their my husband's second cousins," explained Mrs. Weasley, "twice removed." 

"You're related to them too," sang Ginny with a sly smile.

"And I'm looking forward to it," Harry teased. "We'll put Uncle Wally and Aunt Zinnia here with… Cousins Ernie and Joyce." He marked their places on the large chart adorning a wall of the Weasley kitchen.

"Nope, don't think so. Cousin Joyce and Uncle Wally aren't speaking since Uncle Wally killed Joyce's hamster."

"He killed her hamster?" 

"Not on purpose… he just sat on it, that's all. Suffocated the poor thing." 

Ginny shook her head sadly. 

"But we _could _seat them close to Uncle Harold- my third Uncle, once removed. But then, Uncle Harold and-"

"How about," suggested Harry, cutting off his future mother-in-law, "We do easy seating. Ginny and I will sit here. Bill and his wife go here with Charlie and Elizabeth… Fred and George and their… dates can go here. Percy and Penny probably shouldn't sit with them… they've always gotten along with Hermione. We'll put the two of them by Hermione and Andrew… two for Hermione, right?" 

"One for Hermione," said a sullen voice from the living room. A just as sullen owner walked in and plopped herself on a kitchen chair. "I'll be by myself again." 

Hermione looked horrible. Her hair was disheveled, more so than usual, her face was terribly pale, her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks were tearstained. Her clothes had obtained a wrinkled state that had probably come from sleeping in them, and Mrs. Weasley's discerning eyes noticed a chocolate stain on her shirt. 

"Andrew's not coming?" Ginny asked sympathetically, sitting down by her friend.

Hermione sniffed. "No. He has a conference in Rome that weekend that he completely forgot about. He won't be able to make it."

"That means he's going to be gone for your birthday, too, doesn't it?" Harry asked stupidly, causing Hermione to relapse into tears. Ginny shot him a withering look as she placed her arm comfortingly around Hermione's back. 

"Now," she sobbed, "I don't have you here on my birthday, or my boyfriend, or-"

"You have Ron," Ginny reminded helpfully, with a wink at Harry that Hermione was unable to see, thankfully.

"Right, I suppose I do," said Hermione, spirits raised slightly. "I still have Ron." 

**Author's Note: **Ah, an uneventful chapter. Never fear, it's winter break now, and I shall have too much time on my hands than I know what to do with. Also, this is the chapter in which some of the framework of the story is still laid out. I know that this seemed like a bunch of random scenes thrown into one chapter, but it shall improve… BUT STILL REVIEW!!! 


	4. Rehearsals, Realizations, and Rendezvous...

**Author's Note: **All right, my first chapter posted in 2003!!! I'm excited, kids, I'm excited. Firstly, I would like to thank all of the reviewers. You guys are cool. And secondly, this chapter was… fun, to say the least.  Enjoy!

**Chapter Three: **A Rendezvous on the Roof

Ginny ran into the bathroom, closely tailed by Hermione. 

"Breathe, Ginny, breathe!" Hermione commanded. 

"I-can't-do-this!" Ginny gasped. All day she had been accosted by reporters, caterers, dressmakers, florists, and camera-happy Harry Potter fans, just dying to get a shot of his bride. And, of course, you can't forget lovelorn teenage girls ready to curse her for taking their heartthrob away- if Harry could be called a heartthrob. She had been called everything from a 'whore' to a 'hippogriff'. Even Hermione was starting to lose track of the insults. 

"Of course you can," said the maid of honour soothingly, wetting a paper towel and placing a cooling charm on the room. 

"I'm only one person," Ginny continued, "I can't be in a wedding, _plan_ a wedding, and deal with everything else! I mean, witch or not, this is too much for one person!" 

A knock came on the door, pulling Ginny out of her reverie. 

"Ginny? Are you in there?" 

"Come in, Harry," she said, wiping her tears. "Erm, you do know that this is a girls' toilet… right?" 

Harry shrugged. Nothing out of the ordinary.  

She buried her head in his chest, ready to let out all of her problems. "I just don't think that I can handle all of this. We should have hired a coordinator. This is just… too much. We should have had a small wedding, like you wanted. This is… insane!" 

"I can help however you need me to, Gin, just say the word," Hermione volunteered. 

Ginny immediately straightened and sniffled. "You mean it?" 

"Of course," Hermione assured, "Anything at all." 

"Good," said Ginny, turning around. "First of all, you can take care of the caterers for me. No matter what they say, I want salmon, _not_ chicken. Secondly, tell the florists that I want the African Snapdragons sedated. I'll not have a guest's finger bit off, thank you very much. Oh, and also, watch my cousin Freda. Erm… her dress should not be taken in as much as she says. Make sure that it's… modest. Also, my bouquet needs white and yellow roses- make sure that they're yellow and not peach. And tell the pianist that I will not have _Memories_ played as the bridal party walks down the aisle. In fact, let's just outlaw anything from any musical for that matter. I want… well, here I have a list…" 

And so it was that Hermione Granger was so completely in over her head in wedding preparations that she forgot all about her boyfriend's departure for Rome the next morning. 

"All right, I'll go get all of this taken care of. You just relax," Hermione said with a smile. 

"Oh, and Hermione? Could you pick up some sugarquills for the ring bearer and flower girl?" Hermione nodded and left the bathroom, eager to try her hand at wedding coordination. 

As the door closed, Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry's middle.

"You're bad," he said with a smile. "And I must say, that crying was very believable. You even had me convinced, and I know what a little minx you can be."

"I'm sorry," Ginny said, pouting in that way that caught Harry in between laughter and desire. "What are you going to do with me?" 

"Hmm… don't tempt me; we've got a wedding to take care of." 

"Oh," she pouted. "Why don't you and I skip the wedding and go straight to the honeymoon?" 

"Not a bad idea, Weasley. But do you want to have a husband when you get back? If your father doesn't kill me, your brothers will."

"Shut up and kiss me." 

"I don't really recall _all _of the details. I just know that Harry was ready to run heedlessly into danger. That is, until _I _talked him out of it. You never can keep track of the old bloke. Reckless, he is. Why, he's an excellent partner, don't get me wrong. But ever since he and my little sister have… well, you know… his head's not quite in the game." Ron smiled at the dozens of reporters around him, his eyes resting particularly on one young brunette. Had Harry or Hermione been there, he would have officially been accused of robbing the cradle. And oh how true it was. 

She raised her hand tentatively. "Mr. Weasley, what would you say is your greatest achievement to date?" 

"Well," he said, leaning back and giving his best pouty thoughtful look, "I couldn't quite say that one achievement was better than another. There have been a lot of them. As my friend Hermione Granger- you may have heard of her- would say, 'nothing is a failure if you learn something from it'. It works the same way, in that, having learned something from everything that I've done, I couldn't value one achievement above the other. But what I do know is, I always get the girl in the end." He smiled and winked at her, causing her to blush and look away. _Pretty good… for coming out of my arse. _

"Always, Mr. Weasley?" she asked flirtatiously. 

"Please," his smile broadened, "Call me Ron." 

"Then call me Isabel," she replied, not missing a beat. 

Ron locked his eyes to hers, studying them carefully. They were deep brown, and a lovely shade of brown they were. She looked rather familiar, though. He couldn't place where. _Hermione has brown eyes. Maybe that's it. _

"Mr. Weasley," interjected another eager young reporter, "What would you say has-"

"No further questions, please," Ron said, raising his hand and taking a few short steps to where Isabel was standing.  "Now you know all about me. How about you and I grab a drink and I get to know you a bit better." Ron held out her arm for her, and she gladly took it. 

Just as he thought that he had made his mistake, he heard the voice that he was dreading from behind him. 

"Ronald Arthur Weasley, don't you dare tell me that you're leaving when I'm six feet under in work and _you're_ the best man! Get back here this instant!" Ron turned immediately, knowing that Hermione's wrath was taken the easiest when piping hot. Soon she would forget about it or he would make it up to her somehow. That was the way they're relationship went. 

"Hermione," he said, "This is Isabel. Isabel, Hermione." 

"Hello," Hermione said, shaking her hand, "Does Isabel have a last name?" 

"Oak. Isabel Oak." The two women shook hands and introduced themselves. Once through with the preliminaries, Ron could see that he would not be getting off the hook easily. 

"Ron, you do know that there is no way that I can handle this all by myself, right? And you do know that you are responsible to do as much work as I am, don't you? And you do realize that if you leave that I will hex you into next week, I hope." 

Ron hung his head slightly. "Yes, Hermione." 

"Isabel, I'm sorry that your date is ruined, but you're welcome to stay and watch if you like. Don't know why you would want to, but be our guest."

"Actually," said Isabel, "I would love to stay." She shot a smile at Ron, and the three of them walked into the sanctuary.

"What if someone has to go to the bathroom," Harry asked in between kisses.

"Who cares," Ginny replied, taking a split second to separate from Harry in order to answer. "Hold on a sec." She picked up her wand and locked the door, before turning right back to kiss him and slowly unbutton his collar. 

"Wait-" Harry said, pulling back with a questioned look on his face, "We're still getting married tomorrow, right?" 

He had no chance to answer. 

"All right," Hermione said, situating everyone where they had been positioned on the diagram that she had insisted Ginny make. "Bill, you'll stand here, on this side of Harry… wherever he is. Ron will be in between you and Harry, and then… Ron? Ron!" 

"What?" Ron turned from where he had been standing, talking to Isabel. 

"Will you stop flirting and help me, please?" Hermione said, trying to control herself. Ron strode over and stood where she was pointing without question. It was better not to question, he had learned over the years. "Fred and George, over on the other side of Bill. All right… all right, good. Then Ginny will walk down the aisle to here, I'll be on this side of her, Freda, you'll stand next to me, Penelope, you'll be next to Freda, and Sarah, you'll stand on the end. Good? You've all got that? We don't need to practice walking down the aisle and we can all leave?"  

"Yep, got it, Hermione," said George… or Fred.

"No problem at all," added the other.

"Don't need to worry about us at all!"

Hermione and Ron exchanged a nervous glance, quite sure where this was going. Bill snickered and nodded at Hermione. 

"At least once, Herm," Bill told her. "At least for good measure?" 

"I wonder what everyone's doing," Ginny said, resting her head on Harry's chest. He kissed the top of her head, and she sighed contentedly, nestling closer. "Think they miss us?" 

"Who cares." 

Ginny looked up to meet his eyes. Her eyes grazed over her tousled hair (even more so than usual), his flushed cheeks, his lopsided smile, and then his eyes. Her favourite part about him.  

"Just think," she said, "This time tomorrow, I'll be Mrs. Harry Potter." 

"And I'll be… Mr. Harry Potter. That's deep, Gin." 

How it was that Hermione ended up standing in for Ginny, she'll never know, but there she was walking down the aisle and feeling entirely too self-conscious for her own good. She decided right then and there that she would have a small wedding, if she ever got that far. She didn't realize that her best friend was having an epiphany, even if he didn't know the word for it. 

Ron stood exactly where he was supposed to be standing, listening to his brothers humming a funeral dirge that, supposedly, had the same beat as the wedding march. He was listening, but not paying attention. His eyes were fixated on the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen, slowly walking towards him. 

_If I were to die right now, I'd be a happy man, _he thought. He immediately kicked himself mentally for thinking something so stupid. 

Hermione sighed tiredly as she collapsed onto her sofa after a day that should have ended twelve hours ago. The sound of Milton mewing from the kitchen was enough to pull herself up and conjure some cat food. It was then that she noticed the roses. A huge bouquet of red roses was sitting on her kitchen table. She carefully walked over, as if ready to awaken from a dream any minute, and gently picked up the small card. It had just one word: _Stairs_. She flipped it over, looking for something more. There was nothing. So, doing the only remotely logical thing, she walked to the stairs and caught her breath. Leading a trail up the white carpet were rose petals- red, pink, peach and white. She followed them upstairs and through the hallway to where they led- a doorway to the roof. 

One of her favourite things about her home was the flat roof. When she had moved in, she, Harry and Ron had worked to magically build a staircase up to the roof. She had planted a garden up there, had ivy growing, and made it a perfect haven for reading, thinking, just plain thinking, or anything romantic. As she walked up the steps, she could only imagine what was waiting for her. The slowly opened the door to the roof, and held her breath until she saw what was awaiting her. 

Fairy lights were strung everywhere, soft music was playing, and set in the middle of the roof was a table for two, candles lit, and elegantly set. A bottle of champagne sat, waiting to be uncorked. But one thing was missing- the perpetrator. She still saw no sign of whomever it was who had done this for her. 

"Happy birthday, love," said Andrew, stepping out of the shadows behind her. 

She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, unable to speak. 

"Thank you," she finally whispered. "This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me." A mental image of a twelve-year-old Ron belching slugs popped in and out of her mind for a fleeting second. Her cat pushed his through the door and settled comfortably on the swing that she had fashioned under a trellis of ivy. 

"You deserve it," he told her. "I love you, Hermione." 

"And I love you." 

She took a sharp breath as she realized what was going to happen. Her life flashed before her eyes, and she thought, _this isn't the way it's supposed to be._ Her past- all that she could think of was her past, not her future with Andrew. And surprisingly, the two people who figured the most prominently were Harry and Ron, the two most significant men in her life. All of her happiest and most cherished memories were with the two of them, not Andrew. 

Did she really love him? Of course she did… but there was that doubt. She remembered telling Ginny just a few years ago that when she found the person that she was going to spend the rest of her life with, she would know, just like that. 

Just like that…

She had always wondered if Andrew really loved her. Maybe she was just more insecure than she thought. She couldn't help but wonder what if she had been to Ron what it was that the Weasleys wanted her to be. Could she be Ron's wife? No more than she could be Andrew's. But could she? She looked hypothetically into the future. 

She saw herself on the couch, a Christmas tree in the corner, a fire in the hearth, a book on her lap. On the floor, her husband romped and played with a little boy who squealed and giggled in delight. She smiled at the two of them and sipped her tea. 

Later, she put the little boy to bed, smiling as he sucked his thumb and drifted into a sweet sleep. She took everything in- the freckles on his nose, the deep blue of his eyes, the rise and fall of his small chest. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned around to her husband, expectantly. But she couldn't see his face. 

"I love you, Hermione," he said, kissing her. Hermione wished that she could feel that kiss, taste him, smell him. But it was just a daydream, and like that, it was gone. 

"Are you all right, darling?" Andrew asked her. 

"Oh, yes, I'm fine. Just… daydreaming. Let's sit down, shall we?" 

He was talking to her and she wasn't listening, still lost in her own mind. 

Love. Was it real? The thought had plagued at her for the past three years. She wondered if it would ever find her, if she would ever fall in love, or if she would ever even know what love was. She knew now, she supposed. Love was security; Andrew was security. Perhaps love didn't exist, just a willingness to commit and a desire to be with someone. One of these days she could pronounce herself to be in love with Ron and be happily married. But did that mean that he would give her tingles up and down her spine, or were they just made up, too? 

"Hermione," Andrew said, taking on a serious tone. "I… I love you. Will you… I mean… Do you think that…"

"What are you trying to say?" Hermione asked him, taking his hands. 

"Be my wife, Hermione," he said, smiling at her. "Make me the happiest man alive and be my wife." 

"I will," she said, tears clouding her vision, and all thoughts pushed aside. "I will, Andrew." 

Ron Weasley apparated into Hermione's house, a case of butterbeer under his arm. 

"Wicked," he muttered, noticing the rosebuds leading upstairs. He was ready to follow them until he heard soft laughter and realized what was probably going on upstairs. Footsteps approached, and he dashed into the living room, burying his head in a pillow in a desperate attempt to save his eyes. 

"Ron? What are you doing here?" came from a pleasantly surprised Hermione. He exhaled hearing the smile in her voice, and raised his head, thanking the Fates that they were both fully clothed. 

"Hi," he said, sheepishly, noting the huge smile on Hermione's face. _She's beautiful_, he thought. 

"Great news, mate," said Andrew. "We're getting hitched!" 

"Erm… great!" Ron exclaimed, trying his very best to be happy for his best friend. Here he was, the only one of the trio not even seeing anybody. Of course a guy could be upset… at least that's what he told himself.

"Congratulations," he said, rising from the couch and hugging Hermione. "Always knew I'd be last," he told Hermione with a wink. "Insufferable you called me. Guess you were right." She laughed as he shook Andrews's hand, but couldn't help hurting for him. There was something deeper in those words.  

"I'd love to stay," Andrew told Ron, "But I was just on my way out. I've got to leave early tomorrow, and I have a meeting as soon as I arrive."

"Owl me when you get there?" Hermione asked, turning to face him.

"Of course. Good night, love," he said, kissing her. She responded and he apparated to his flat, leaving a smiling Hermione to flop on the couch with a sight.

"So…" Ron said, plopping down beside her.

"What… why did you come here, again, Ron?" 

"To spend time with you. We haven't had a chance to do that lately." 

"Do you want to go out?" Hermione asked. "I'm getting sick of being home." That, and she didn't want to face cleaning up the roof, stairs, or going to bed with only the thought and phantom images of her now fiancé. 

"Me too. Where to, milady?" he asked playfully, knowing full well what the answer would be. Never mind about that butterbeer, it would be good to get out. 

"Leaky Cauldron?" She rose and retrieved her cloak, bringing Ron's wand back with her. 

**Author's Note: **There ya have it, the fruit of my labour. I know, you all hate me now. They can't be engaged, blah, blah, blah. Well, if it gets you to leave a review, then DO IT!!! I want them, I need them. Oh baby, oh baby (great movie). Anyway REVIEW!!!! 


	5. The Beginnings of Aforementioned Plot

**Author's Note: **So what, I procrastinate. Sue me why don't you! Actually, please don't, and since we're on that note, I do not own anything related to Harry Potter. This is the chapter in which a plot actually _begins_ to unfold. It's a very, _very_ long chapter, and for this I sort of apologize. But it's my story and so there. I can make the chapters as long as I want. Please review when you finish reading this three days from now. 

Also, I included one of my favourite lines from one of my favourite movies in this chapter- _Bridget Jones's Diary_. Ten points to you if you spot it. Cheers!

Someday my Prince will come. After all, everybody has a Prince Charming. Mine just happened to get lost along the way and is too stubborn to ask for directions.

**_- Anonymous _**

**Chapter Four: **The Beginnings of Aforementioned Plot****

Ron blinked repeatedly as his eyes tried to adjust to the dingy and low-lit bar. A wave of nostalgia came over him, as it does when one comes home after a long time, or has many pleasant memories that haven't been thought of in some time, dusty and mothball covered from lack of use, like the boxes in his attic. He ducked as he entered the bar from the apparation room- the doorframes were very small in the Leaky Cauldron. This he knew from experience and several red bumps on his forehead. He nodded and smiled at Neville Longbottom, his old school chum, who manned the bar these days, and took a booth in the corner. 

"Hello, welcome to the Leaky- oh, it's you, is it?" Ron looked up at the all too familiar voice and cringed when his suspicions were correct. Pansy Parkinson, still pug-faced and still cat-like (and not in the sexy sort of way that was comparable to Parvati Patil, but in that annoying, high voiced, nail on chalkboards kind of way) to a fault. She had gained some weight from her Hogwarts days, as everyone had; now giving her the appearance of one who was very fit. Ron had seen her at the gym on more than one occasion. Her hair, rather than it's drab shade of dark blond, was now dyed a deep red, and, per usual, her makeup was painted on heavily. 

"Pansy," he said, almost cordially. "Shall I move, or are you the only waitress tonight?" 

"Unfortunately, wherever you go, I'll have the… er… _pleasure_ of waiting on you, Weasel."

_Weasel…_ Ron mulled the word/insult over in his mind. _Never gets old. Perhaps she's not so clever after all… can't even make up good insults… like… Carrot Head or Freckle Face or… yeah, Weasel's good. _

"All right then," he said, when the tapping over her foot snapped him out of his bad insult creating reverie. "I'll have mulled mead, please, and a gillywater for my friend." 

Pansy looked over next to Ron and at the seat opposite him. "Is she sitting right there?" she asked, as if speaking to a child. 

Ron glowered, and tried counting to ten. Through gritted teeth he said, "She hasn't joined me yet. Now, if you would get my drink please."

"Oooh, could I?" she smirked, and skulked away, stiletto heels clicking against the wooden floor. 

Hermione, who had been observing from just a few yards away approached with a small smile, and sat opposite Ron. "Let's not tip her," she said, "And then we'll see who's laughing." 

Ron chuckled. "I'm not sure that it would matter- all these blokes in here are probably tipping her triple anyway." He nodded his head in Pansy's direction, and he and Hermione watched as she dropped silverware in front of a table full of young, good-looking men and bent over to pick it up, being sure to give them an eyeful. As she placed a drink on the far side of the table, she made sure that she bent over just enough for her already low-cut shirt to fall just a tad lower. She even seemed pleased with herself when one of them seemed to be ordering his red currant rum from her chest. Hermione choked back a laugh, that was, until she met Ron's eye. 

"If she wasn't Pansy Parkinson, I might say that she's your type," Hermione said to her redheaded friend with a smirk. 

"If she wasn't Pansy Parkinson, I might agree." He grinned at his friend, and she laughed harder. The beauty of her smile was not lost on him, nor was her impression of how irresistible he looked with red ears and lopsided smile. 

Sometimes, when two people have a close bond, they don't need to talk in order to communicate. They can simply feel what the other is feeling without having to say a word. One look into the other's eye will tell them everything that they'll need to know. However, this was not the case with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. 

"So…"

"So…" 

"Erm… this wedding," Ron started, hoping to get some sort of response, or at least something interesting to talk about. He did get a response, but not anything that he had been hoping for. Hermione smiled happily and glanced down at her left hand adoringly, fiddling with the large diamond on her finger. Ron wondered how long she could stare at it without being permanently blinded. 

"What's this?" Pansy Parkinson asked shrilly as she approached with two drinks that were actually what Ron had ordered from this. "Granger on a date with Weasley? Settled for second best when Potter was taken, eh?" 

"Oh, hello, Neville, it's so good to see you!" Hermione exclaimed, looking beyond Pansy. She quickly placed their drinks on the table, muttered something that sounded like 'willthatbeall', turned on her heel and left, finding her boss behind the counter, as he had been for the majority of the night. Hermione grinned at Ron, and held up her glass. "Cheers." Ron clinked his with hers, and took a swig, grimacing at the initial taste, but the grimace subsided as the warm, comforting liquid slid down his throat, warming him from the inside out. 

"So how's work going, Ron?" Hermione asked him, taking a dainty sip of her gillywater. Ron noted just how comfortable she looked in her surroundings- laid back, casual, breezy. Not like the Hermione that he was used to seeing lately- tense, uptight, stressed. 

"It's, you know, work. Evil wizards, world domination. Same old story." He grinned and shrugged, and knew exactly what she would say. She laughed slightly, as predicted, and responded as he thought that she would, saying, "Doesn't that sound so warped to you? We've been dealing with that since we were eleven, and talk about it so casually. Some people would be terrified to even consider becoming an Auror, and never have to come in contact with half of the stuff that we have. And I'm not even an Auror." 

He exhaled, and leaned back into the booth, smiling knowingly. 

"What?" she asked, blushing a bit at the wonder of what he was thinking. 

"I've still got it," he replied, cryptically. 

"Excuse me?" 

"I can read you like a book, Hermione Louise." 

She crinkled her nose at the sound of her middle name. "You know I hate it when you call me that, Ronald Arthur." 

"You're right, I do." His smile broadened at their playful banter. He loved doing this with her. No one quite understood it like the two of them did. They were Ron and Hermione. It's just what they _did. _He wondered just how long it would last. With Hermione getting married soon, their space would soon be taken up by a jealous husband, then changing nappies, then kindergarten, then Quidditch practices, then second honeymoons, anniversaries, and holidays, then piano lessons, then Hogwarts shopping… by then, he wouldn't even remember what Hermione looked like. He was _not_ looking forward to that. 

"Do you ever regret it?" Hermione asked, in a now serious tone. 

"Regret what?" He took another sip of his drink.

Hermione hesitated, as if she couldn't even form the words that she needed to. Even when she said them, they sounded foreign to her, as if her tongue had never uttered them in her life, as if she had never wanted to, and as if she was afraid to say it: "Being friends with Harry." 

Ron nearly choked on the gulp that was in his mouth at the moment. "Not a second," he replied without hesitation. "Hermione, I can't-"

"Let me finish," she said, exasperatedly. "I mean… I mean… do you ever wish that we could have had normal childhoods? That we could have been normal kids at Hogwarts, spending all of our time worrying about how we would have enough time to do our homework, study for the next test, write to our parents _and_ raid the kitchens with the Marauder's Map instead of always having to be wary of a Death Eater around the corner? We had our innocence taken from us Ron, so did Harry. Sometimes I wish that I could just go back and do it all over again. Ignorance is bliss, right?"

Ron paused before answering her. "Sometimes," he said, quietly. "But then again, I wish that I could do a lot of things over again." 

"Ron, I-" Her wand started blinking red from her deep pocket and beeping ever so softly, but enough to get her attention. Red was not a good sign. She pulled it out, and stood up. "I'm sorry, Ron, I've got to go. Can we take a rain check?" 

"Day after tomorrow," Ron said, standing up. "Your birthday." 

"See you, then," she said, before rushing off to the apparation room. 

She closed her eyes and imagined the apparation room of the St. Mungo's emergency ward, willed herself to be there, and felt the dizzy, light-headed sensation that one feels when apparating. 

She felt solid ground beneath her feet again, and rushed from the room to find the waiting room of the emergency ward filled with wailing children, parents trying to put on brave faces for their children and each other all while on the verge of a total breakdown at the sight of their children in such fear and pain, and Mediwitches and wizards hurrying about like crazy, trying to treat the more serious patients first. Hermione felt that familiar rush that came with having a job to do- a serious job- and needing to get it done fast, knowing that the feeling of completion would come only when she had done her very best. 

"What's going on, Adele?" she asked the Head Mediwitch, who was directing doctors and nurses to their patients. 

"A Quidditch game," the older woman said, lowering her voice. "It doesn't look good. Got way out of hand and… you know how involved some of the parents can be. Well, they started hurling curses at each other before the game even started, and one wayward curse hit the supports of the stands. The wall separating the stands and field crashed down on the team bench. And you know Little Leagues, they don't cut anybody. At least twenty seriously injured. Five fatally wounded. Two already dead. Take the boy over there." Adele pointed to the small, shirtless black boy, who had been levitated onto a magical stretcher. Hermione was handed charts, as a cloud of grief seemed to obstruct her senses. Children. Children dying. There was only so much that she could take. 

As she approached, she saw cuts and scrapes all over his bare chest. She could barely hear him breathing over the clamour of the station, which was usually cramped enough, save the addition of wounded children. 

"Hey there, Champ," she said, in what she hoped was a soothing voice to the small boy in front of her. She placed a hand on his chest to feel just how deeply he was breathing and he immediately winced, causing her to remove her hand as if his chest were a lit stove. "What's your name?" 

"Joey," he said, choking the half whisper of his name out with much difficulty. "It hurts." 

"What hurts, Joe?" she asked. "Does this hurt?" He moaned as she delicately placed her hand back on his chest. 

"Uh-huh," he choked. The effort of speaking louder, combined with the moan of pain, sent him into a coughing fit, putting an equal amount, if not greater, stress on his chest. Hermione searched the boy's face. His eyes were red and blood shot, sliding in and out of focus, it appeared. He was breathing through his mouth, resulting in cracked, dry lips. There was blood around his mouth. 

Hermione stopped a nurse who was just coming to the aid of the frazzled doctors. 

"Get me an OR, stat," she said. 

"What have we got?" 

"Punctured lung." 

Hermione wheeled the boy to the operation wing as quickly as she could. She heard the pounding of steps behind her, and felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and her face was looking directly into an older man's chest. She looked up to his face, black goatee lining his chin, bushy eyebrows, and a receding hairline. His eyes were bloodshot and tearstained. 

"Where are you taking my son?" he asked in a gravely voice. "Will he be all right?" 

"If I can get him to an operating room, he should be fine. If you'll walk with me, sir." Hermione started walking again, Joey's father keeping pace. 

"Can't you just fix it with magic or something?" His voice cracked.

"It's an interior wound, and we don't know the location exactly. We'll need to operate to find it and then, yes, it can be fixed by magic. We'll do everything that we can, sir." Hermione stopped at the NO ADMITTANCE doors, with a pointed look at the father. He came around to face his son, and cupped his chin in his large hand.

"I love you, son," he said. "I'll be right here when you come back, all right? I'll be right here."

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione whispered, "But you're not allowed past these doors." The older man nodded and stepped aside as Hermione wheeled through. 

"I love you too, Dad," she heard her patient choke out softly. His father heard. 

The plain topes and mauves of the hospital were supposed to be soothing. She felt anything but soothed. 

"All right, Joey?" she asked him. 

"It hurts." 

"I know. You play Quidditch, Joey?" 

"Yeah." 

"Seeker, I bet."

"Chaser," he corrected weakly. 

"Chaser! Wow, I'll bet you'll play for England some day." 

"Maybe." 

"Mr. Harrison?" Hermione called, tentatively stepping into the waiting room. The man that she had met earlier stood, and this time, his wife was there. She was a heavyset woman with one of the kindest, most beautiful faces that Hermione had ever seen. 

"Is Joey all right?" she asked, rushing over to Hermione.

"He should be just fine, and ready to see you in an hour or two."

Both parents gave sighs of relief, and the mother broke down again. The father shook her hand, and introduced himself as Malcolm, and his wife, Loretta. Hermione introduced herself as well, shook their hands again, and left to find an empty bed. She hadn't slept all night. It wasn't until she found an empty room that she glanced at the clock and saw that she was due at the hairdresser's in fifteen minutes- six thirty. With the wedding scheduled for eleven, they would be pressed for time. She left the room, all thoughts of sleep gone from her mind, and handed over Joseph Harrison's charts to the nursing station. Rushing to the apparation room, she went to her flat quickly, took the quickest shower of her life, and changed into jeans and a button-down shirt (she'd learned the hard way not to wear a pull-over when getting her hair done). She arrived at the salon fifteen minutes late, but no one seemed to notice. All of the bridesmaids were half asleep anyway. Three hours of pain later, Ginny treated the bridal party to breakfast, leaving an hour and a half for makeup and dress robes. 

Hermione wondered if they'd notice her wearing trainers underneath of her robes. If it was long enough, they might not see, and she was going to be on her feet all day anyway. 

"Hermione, take off the trainers; it looks ridiculous," Mrs. Weasley said, swishing through to attend to Ginny. 

_All right then. Bring on the high heels! _Hermione was not one to dress up any more than she needed to, and weddings tended not to be an exception. At Lavender and Seamus's wedding, she was able to skive off with dress pants and a nice shirt under her simple robes. But not today.

Ron had seen Harry cry three times in his life: First being the time in fourth year after the Triwizard's Tournament. Secondly, after Voldemort had been defeated and his parents' death avenged. Third, when they'd heard of the death of Mad Eye Moody, whom the two of them had become rather close to during Auror's training. He had taken Professor Dumbledore's place, so to speak, as a confidante and mentor. But the tears that Harry cried when Ginny walked down the aisle were nothing like the previous occasions. 

His eyes had been glistening since they'd arrived at the church that morning. He had been so nervous that he wouldn't even talk to Ron. He just couldn't. When the music had begun to play, he began biting his lip. When Hermione walked down the aisle, she winked at Harry, seeing his obvious nervousness (she had also popped her head in to see him before the ceremony started). This made Harry smile, until the organ began playing the Bridal March and the guests stood, awaiting the bride's entry. Harry fixed his eyes firmly on the door, just dying for that first glimpse of Ginny, as if he had never seen her before. By now, Hermione was crying as well. Ron made a face at her from across the altar, and she let out a watery giggle. He glanced over at Harry and saw a broad smile on his face, though the tears were streaming freely down. He was finally getting a family- a real family, not just the Weasleys on summer holidays or special occasions. As Ginny's veil was lifted, it was evident to all that she was crying just as hard, if not more so. 

"You're beautiful," Harry whispered to her. That was when Ron felt the sharp hint of tears in his eyes. He made eye contact with Hermione across the altar once more, and they smiled watery smiles at each other, as the realization that they were losing a third of their trio set in. 

Hermione had never felt more alone than that day. She felt like a shadow of herself as she walked around on Ron's arm all day, smiling and laughing at all the appropriate places, making conversation with the relatives, dancing when need be. She knew that she should be happy for her two friends, and she was. She was ecstatic. She was also selfish. It was the happiest day of their lives, and here she was, being so egocentric as to not even really enjoy herself. It didn't make sense to her. She was engaged, and soon would be married herself. She should feel happy. Unfortunately, the familiar emptiness and pseudo-happiness set in whenever this thought came to mind. She preferred not to think about it, then. 

That is not to say that she didn't enjoy herself. She was quite content when dancing with Ron, Harry, or any member of the Weasley family, at that. She was at ease when catching up with Seamus and Lavender, and simply adored their daughter, Nicola. Dean could still make her blush with his natural flirtatiousness, and Sirius could still make her laugh. Professor Dumbledore still made her feel proud and accomplished, and Remus Lupin still knew just the right thing that she needed to hear. 

Ah, but then there was Hagrid. She loved Hagrid, she really did. There were just times when his foot was too big for his mouth to even fit it in. Times like that day. 

She was sitting at a table with her old Professors and chatting happily, catching up, laughing about old times, when Hagrid dropped a bomb on her. 

"So, Hermione," he said, "When're we gonna see yeh gettin hitched, eh?" 

"Soon, I should hope," she replied with a smile, holding up her left hand and showing off the diamond ring as she was beginning to love to do. 

"Congratulations!" Hagrid roared, slapping her on the back with such force that she nearly fell off her seat. "Ron's a lucky man! Yeh didn' set a date, yet, did yeh?" 

"Oh! I… I'm not marrying Ron, Hagrid." 

His face immediately fell. "Yer not?" 

"No- do you remember an Andrew Lewis?" 

"Is he here?" Hagrid asked, ignoring her question completely. When Hermione didn't answer, he said, "Ron would never stand yeh up."

"He's _not_ standing me up, Hagrid, he's just-"

"Now when are yeh gonna git serious, Hermione? Yeh can' jus' play around forever, yeh know." 

"I-"

"Now I know what it's like to be young. I was young once meself. But that doesn' mean that-"

"Look, Hagrid," Hermione said, bringing him up short, "I would love to discuss my romantic shortcomings right now, but I think that I'll be needing to go… oh! Will you look at that! In about two seconds. It was lovely talking to you all. Excuse me." 

She got up and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster, and intercepted Ron as he was headed over to the table. Too confused to protest, he allowed her to drag him across the room. 

"What's going on?" he asked her. 

"Don't go over there," she insisted. "Hagrid will just ask you how your love life is, as if he's expecting you to say 'oh, great', when what you mean to say is, ' completely dreadful! Haven't seen a hint of a shag in about three months', and then he'll just ask you why you're not in love with me and tell you that you should be and then you'll get mad and leave, and then you'll look bad, so I'm saving you the trouble." She said this all in one breath, leaving Ron thoroughly stunned. 

"Oh," was all that he could say. 

Hermione woke up at three in the afternoon the next day- her twenty-eighth birthday. She had stayed late at the Burrow the previous night, where the entire Weasley family had convened after Harry and Ginny had left for their honeymoon. There had been no owl from Andrew since he had left for Rome. She was upset, yes, but didn't mind too much. She had always been independent in relationships, and liked to not have someone always there to pull out chairs, hang up her coat, or open doors. Self-efficiency, thank you very much. 

She knew that Ron would be to see her later that day. She had taken off work in advance to sleep off her late night. What was better to do than treat herself to a nice hot bath? She filled a tub with water and bubbles, played one of her most relaxing Muggle CDs, lit candles and relaxed, letting the warm water work the knots out of her aching muscles. 

She must have drifted off to sleep while in the tub, for when she opened her eyes again, the CD had run out, the water was cold and the bubbles had gone flat. She shivered as her feet touched the cold marble floor and welcomed the warm terry cloth around her. As she was dressing, she heard Ron's voice call from downstairs. She quickly brushed her teeth and skipped down the stairs to meet him. He held her hand as they apparated to wherever he was taking her- it was a surprise. When she opened her eyes, they were standing outside of a small and elite restaurant in Diagon Alley called Lucy's Hat Shoppe. Ron led her inside and she was met with delicious smells.

She had wanted to come in this restaurant for a while now. Andrew had promised to take her, but had to work on the night that they had set aside. It was as adorable inside as outside. Painted in light, Victorian style colours; the silverware and glasses crystal to compliment the delicate china; old-fashioned hats- Muggle and Wizarding alike- were adorning the walls. The carpet was plush beneath her feet, and the seating host handed her a fresh gardenia as he pulled out her chair for her to sit. 

"Thank you so much for bringing me here, Ron," she said, as she drew the spicy-sweet flower to her nose. "It's lovely." 

"I thought you'd like it," he replied, throwing her a lopsided grin and looking quite proud of himself. "Extra special tonight." 

Hermione smiled at the pure joy of it. "It's to bad that Harry and Ginny couldn't be here," she said, "although I'm sure that they're having _much_ more fun whatever they're doing in Greece." 

They sat in silence for a bit, taking in the business of their surroundings. Ron surprised Hermione when he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a blue velvet box. 

"This is for you." 

Hermione took it from him with a grateful look, and opened it carefully. Inside, she found a beautiful pair of sapphire earrings that suited her wonderfully. She'd always thought that jewellery was impractical, but for some reason, she didn't quite mind that Ron had given her jewellery. It was nice; it made her feel pretty enough to wear it, and that was a feeling that she didn't often get. 

"Thank you, Ron," Hermione said, once she was able to find her voice. 

"You're very welcome," he said, pink-eared. 

"Did Ginny help you pick these out?" She asked, unwilling to take her eyes from the box. 

"No," he said, "Actually, I saw them and thought that they would suit you. You… you do like them, don't you?" 

Hermione tried to hide her laugh as she looked up to meet his eyes. Ron never changed. He was her constant. In so many ways, he was still the insecure teenager with the too-short pyjamas, five older brothers, hand-me-down robes and a famous best friend. 

"Of course I do," she reassured him.

"Good." 

"Good." 

Ron's wand beeped from his pocket, doubling as a beeper as it did for Hermione. He excused himself to check in with his boss, asking the waiter where the public fires were. As he made his way to the back of the restaurant, he ran into a man about his size, and muttered his apologies. 

"Sorry, mate," he said, as he continued to walk. 

"Don't mention it, sir," the man replied. Ron stopped cold. As he turned to look at the man, he saw him sitting down with a pretty blond. The thoughts of calling his boss were erased from his mind as he advanced towards the man, filled with every kind of rage. He yanked him from his seat by the back of his collar and slammed him against the wall, immediately drawing attention to himself. Before he could speak, he heard Hermione's voice. 

"Ron! What are you doing? Let him go this instant!" 

He obeyed, and stepped aside. The minute that he heard Hermione's gasp, he wished that he hadn't. 

"Andrew?" The timidly asked question broke the silence that had enveloped the dining room. 

"Hermione," he explained, stepping forward. Ron stopped him.

"Shut up!" he roared. "You don't deserve her! You don't deserve to say her name!" By force of habit, Hermione's hand flew to Ron's shoulder, a reminder to keep his temper. 

"Why are you here?" she asked, calmly. 

"I-I-"

"Who is she?" Hermione looked pointedly at the blond at Andrew's table. 

"Jennifer," the woman introduced herself. She stood up, and stepped towards the three of them. "You must be Hermione. Andrew, darling, I thought you said she was pretty." 

Hermione's mouth dropped and Ron's eyes narrowed. He advanced towards Andrew again, but once again, Hermione restrained him. 

"He's not worth it," she whispered. Slowly, she took the multi-carat diamond from her finger, and dropped it icily into Andrew's flute of champagne. "Ron's right, you know. You don't deserve me. You don't deserve anyone." 

With that she turned and walked out on Andrew Lewis. 

**Review. Now.**


	6. Rainy Days and Mondays

**Author's Note: **What day is it? WHAT day is IT? It's St. Patrick's Day, my friend! The very holiday, which I brilliantly named my story after, completely aside from the fact that it's based on a song by John Mayer! WOOHOO!  To celebrate such a glorious day, I present to you the best, in my opinion, chapter in the entire story, save the last and epilogue (which only I know about, so there!).

You know, sometimes I envy all of you on the other side of the computer screen. You know why? Because there's no sense in my reviewing to this awesome chapter!! I like to entitle it… _Ye Olde Reviewing Feilde Day._ Therefore, I entreat ye, that, in great haste post the reading of yon chapter, to review, ye olde kinsmen, review! 

Still, this doesn't belong to me. The last four chapters have not, and chapter five is the same. And there's something else in this chapter that doesn't belong to me, either. I'd like to thank the lovely reviewing **Sparrow**for a very interesting phrase that she coined in her last review, which I borrowed in this chapter. It made me laugh. Hope you all laugh when you find it as well!

One last thing I need to tell you before I go…

…

The Matrix has you. 
    
    **_Talkin' to myself and feelin' old_**
    
    **_Sometimes I'd like to quit_**
    
    **_Nothing ever seems to fit_**
    
    **_Hangin' around_**
    
    **_Nothing to do but frown_**

Rainy Days and Mondays always get me down

****

**_-The Carpenters, "Rainy Days and Mondays" _**

****

**Chapter Five: **Rainy Days and Mondays

How it was that Hermione Granger wound up with her head plastered to the bar of the Leaky Cauldron, a sympathetic and, quite frankly, intimidated Neville Longbottom giving her drinks at her demand, dizzy and disoriented, she would never remember. She remembered one thing, and one thing only- that…that… _tramp_ throwing herself on top of her boyfriend- no, _fiancé­_- half dressed in some skimpy evening gown, and in between obscene amounts of kissing insulting her. Well, no one did _that_ to Hermione Granger! (As she thought this, Hermione slapped her hand on the board for emphasis, not realizing that no one around her could hear her thoughts.) The businessman two stools away looked at her queerly. 

"What?!" she demanded far too loudly, sitting up from her pathetic prostrate position. Since she seemed to have found enough strength to sit up, she figured she'd have another go. She slapped the board once more, this time so hard that her hand stung (or would have, had she been able to feel it). "Neville!" she demanded, "Hit me!" 

"Hermione, I think you've had quite enough to-" He was silenced by her drunken glare. "Right away." 

Once again, Hermione found herself quite alone. She sunk back down on to the bar in front of her, resting her head on her arm and staring horizontally at the three identical, swirling businessmen two stools down. 

"You know," she said, loudly, sitting up only to slump back down again, "I don't understand men. I mean, you're a man, am I right?" The man looked at her quite queerly once more. "What is it that compels a man to cheat, eh? I mean, is it the _sex?_" By now, there wasn't one person in the pub who wasn't staring at her. "Cause, hey, there is more to a relationship than sex, you know what I'm saying?" Neville placed a tall glass of mulled mead in front of her that she picked up and drank, draining half of the glass in one gulp. "Come on, you're with someone for…one…two…three… after three… well a _long_ time, and suddenly, he- whoops!" Hermione, in her intoxicated rage, slipped of her stool, and would have landed flat on her bum had a strong pair of arms not encircled her. 

"Up you go," Ron said, lifting her on to her feet. 

"Who do you think you are-oh, it's you." 

"How much does she owe, Neville?" Ron asked. 

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione was protesting for anyone with in a twenty kilometre radius to hear, "I'm perfectly capable of standing on my own, thank you!" Ron let her go, and once again, her knees gave way and her caught her. He paid her bill and they left the pub, taking the Muggle Street rather than leading her through Diagon Alley. She was in no condition to Floo back to her house, much less apparate. Ron took her into a deserted alley and stuck out his wand arm, praying that the Knight Bus was in the country. Within seconds, the purple bus screeched to a stop in front of them, and Ron half led, half carried Hermione on. He nearly trampled over the conductor as he moved to sit on one of the benches. 

"Excuse me," Ron said, tipping his head in apology.

"Not a problem, sir, not a problem," said the small man in quite a thick Welsh accent. 

"By _crikey!_" Hermione exclaimed, suddenly alert. "Why you're a shorter bloke than Professor Flitlywickly! Oh, no, what was his name, love? Professor…professor… professor…-"

"I'm terribly sorry for my friend, sir," Ron apologized, firmly clasping his large hand over Hermione's mouth, drowning out her repetitions of "professor…professor".

"Not a problem, sir, not a problem," he said, jovially. "Hegbert Podge is the name, sir, bein' insulted by attractive drunk women is the game. Take her to a bed on the next level and then you come back down and tell me where you need to go." 

"Thank you, sir," Ron said, removing his hand from his friend's mouth as he walked to the stairs in the back. Surprisingly, Hermione went along quite quietly, until it came to her: "Flitwick! That was his name, love, I _told_ you I knew it, I _told _you! Didn't I tell you? Didn't I?" 

"Yes, Hermione," Ron muttered, leading her up the steps in a rather shaky manner. 

"You bet your _broomstick_ I did, you son of a …sheep sheerer!" Ron left out the queer look and continued up the tightly spiralled steps. He found an empty bed far away from the door downstairs and laid Hermione down, despite her protests, and left her there, despite the fact that his head was screaming at him for being so stupid as to leave her. He quickly told Hegbert Podge her address. 

"Not a problem, sir, not a problem!" He climbed up onto a stool to tell the driver, and turned to face Ron. "Tell me, what bloke did a number on her? Not you, I hope, sir, not you, I hope." 

"No, not me," Ron said, sitting down. Hegbert Podge sat down on the stool, his short legs dangling and swinging back and forth, like those of a child. "Her fiancé. Went and cheated on her. I could have killed him, of course, but she wouldn't have none of it. 'Nope,' she says, 'he's not worth it.'" 

"Probably not, sir, probably not. Answer me this, sir, answer me this, if you will. You wouldn't happen to be Ron Weasley, would you, now? And that young lady with you- Hermione Granger?" 

Ron's eyes went wide. "Please, Mr. Podge, keep this between you and I, please. If word got out- Hermione's whole bloody reputation could be destroyed. Hell, I don't care about mine, but for some reason it means a lot to her, and I-"

"Understood, sir, understood." He pantomimed sealing his mouth shut and throwing away the key. 

"Thank you, Mr. Podge." 

"Hegbert, sir, Hegbert. Everyone I knows calls me Hegbert, sir, and Hegbert is my name to everyone I knows."

"Thanks, Hegbert." 

"You're welcome, sir, you're welcome. This would be your stop now." 

Ron hadn't realized just how fast that they had been travelling, but there they were, stopped right in front of Hermione's lovely house. He nodded to Podge, and went to retrieve her from the upper berths where she lay fast asleep. 

She wouldn't budge when he shook her, and wouldn't respond when he called her name. Finally, he whipped out his wand and whispered a spell to wake her up. Groggily she followed, silent as he paid Hegbert Podge, who winked at the two of them before the Knight Bus sped away. 

"You know," she slurred, "It was _dreadful awful _lonely up there." 

"Sorry," he apologized, grinning in spite of himself. _"Alohomora_." 

"What are you _laughing_ about?"  She demanded, hitting his arm with a minimal amount of force, but still enough to make her stumble. "Really, Ron," she continued, as they walked into the foyer, "I have the worst night of my _life_ and all you can do is laugh at me?" Her cat darted out in front of her, having been startled from the loud voices interrupting his quiet dreamtime. Hermione stumbled, and Ron caught her, this time lifting her into his arms and carrying her up the steps to her bedroom. He kicked the door open gently, and laid her down on one side of the bed, pulling the covers back from the other side. He removed her shoes and jacket as gently as possible, so as not to wake her from the much needed slumber. He lifted her once more, and set her down on the turned back half of the bed, tucked the covers around her, and turned out the light. As he was leaving, he heard Hermione's voice. 

"Where are you going?" she asked him, barely coherent. 

"To make up the couch. I'm staying here tonight." 

"Don't leave me." 

"I won't." 

"No, don't leave me. Stay with me, Ron." 

Ron was surprised at her words, but accepted the offer. She was drunk, heartbroken and alone. The least that he could do was stay by her. He removed his jacket, belt, and shoes and slipped under the covers a good distance away from her, not wanting to be caught in a position where taking advantage of her intoxication was an option. 

"Mmm… goodnight, Ron," she whispered.

"Goodnight." 

He was taken aback later during the night when she snuggled up close to him, sound asleep. Grateful for the warmth, he put his arms around her, and drifted into a sweet a sleep as ever. 

When Hermione awoke the next day- Monday- she winced at the soft light pouring into her room, her head pounding at the sound of the hard rain falling on her roof. She fell back into bed and pulled the covers over her head, not wanting to be woken up by anything. She noticed a groggy redhead in bed next to her, and gasped (promptly wincing at the action) and looked down. She was fully clothed. He was fully clothed. Good. 

It wasn't many hours later, late afternoon, until she woke. It was still raining, and they sky outside was as dark as twilight from the rain. Ron was nowhere to be seen; only the fresh scent of his cologne was left on the pillow. She wrapped a dressing gown around her, and was hit with a sudden pang of grief. She was alone. Andrew was gone. But Ron was here, and she had to be strong for him. Although there was little that she remembered from the night before, she couldn't imagine how she had behaved. But then she remembered Andrew and his snooty, sophisticated, skinny girlfriend, and didn't care anymore. She padded down the stairs, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. 

Ron was on her couch, a fire lit, watching Muggle rugby and sipping a butterbeer. "Hey," he said quietly, as he saw her approaching. "How you doing?" 

"I think that my head was trampled by a Hungarian Horntail. But I don't know which is worse. My head, my heart or my pride. What if… what if I never get married, Ron? What if I'm unlovable?" she said, dispelling the silent tears and replacing them with heart wrenching sobs. She flopped on the couch with an even louder sob, and he wrapped his arms around her, unable to help himself. 

"Listen," he said, "You're… lovely. I don't know how someone couldn't see that. Andrew just wasn't the one, Herms. You'll find him; don't worry. And I'll find that perfect girl for me. You've just got to have faith." 

"Why should I have faith, Ron? I was in love, and now it's gone, and I'll never be in love again, and I'm unlovable! Who would…" she broke down again, incoherent through sobs. "Who would want me?" 

Ron took her shoulders so she was looking him eye to eye. "Don't ever let me hear you say that again, Hermione. Who _wouldn't_ want you is the question here. You're smart, beautiful, funny… in your own way, of course. You've got one of the biggest hearts I know, you're clever, you're caring- you took care of me and Harry for all of these years, didn't you? You're the most wonderful woman that I've ever met, and I only hope that whoever is out there, ready to put up with me forever is at least half of what you are to me." Hermione's sobs clenched her again, and Ron surrendered his shoulder. 

"Oh, why can't I just marry you, Ron?" she whispered into his shoulder. 

"What did you say?" he asked, pulling away and handing her a handkerchief. 

"I said, why can't I just marry you? But it's silly; forget I said it." 

But Ron didn't forget it. He was thinking, strategizing, like a chess game. 

"Maybe," he said, after some time, "Maybe it's not such a crazy idea." Seeing the sceptical look on her face he said, "Wait, let me finish. We're going to be thirty in two years, right? What do say we make a deal: if, in two years, neither of us are seeing anybody, we marry each other. Don't look like that, it's not that crazy."

She sat, thinking things through. This was crucial, but it was Ron. They would kill each other if they were ever married. She promptly told him this, and suggested a trial period. 

"How about… all right, so we can't break up in October- we'll have to go the Ministry's Halloween Ball together. And then there's November- Mum and Dad's fiftieth wedding anniversary. We'll need dates for that party that Bill's throwing. And then, well, December is out of the question. No one likes to be alone at Christmastime. So January… no, we can't end it then, either. I'll need you to help me keep my resolutions, and you'll need me to make sure that you don't kill yourself keeping yours. February, well that's Valentine's Day. We'll need to be together then. So that leaves March. What's going on in March?" 

"Nothing," she said quietly, still mulling things over in her mind. "Wait- St. Patrick's Day." 

"All right, so we're safe until St. Patrick's Day, at least. If it isn't working out then, we can end it- mutually, don't look like that at me- and we'll both walk away, no hard feelings, and still be the best of friends."

"And if we don't want to end it?" she asked, wiping the last of her tears that she would shed while in the presence of Ron. 

"Then we won't. We'll stick it out for two years until we're thirty and that's that."

"What if either one of us meets someone else? Are we supposed to be so committed that we don't date?" 

"No. No strings attached, aside from that we give it a try until St. Patrick's Day. It'll work out fine, Hermione, I promise." 

She thought about his proposition, wondering just what a relationship with Ron would be like. Of course, it wasn't a real relationship, more of a pseudo-relationship. But if they ended up getting married at the end of it all…

"But shouldn't we be in love if we get married when push comes to shove?" she asked. All of her life she had had images of fireworks going off overhead and angels singing when she was kissed by her true love. That's when she would know that she wanted to be with him forever. 

"Well, we do love each other, right? Not in the romance way, but we do love each other. Think about it, we'd be a great team, even if we only admire and respect each other in the friendly love way. We both get paid well; we're both good with kids. I'll always take care of you, I promise."

"I suppose that if we really commit to it, divorce is out of the question, despite the rows that we get into. But children, Ron?" 

"Why not? They'll be something to keep us together. Besides, I've always wanted kids, and so have you. We'll balance each other out- great parenting! Look, I promise you that I will always be there for you, always support you, and always take care of you, no matter what happens." 

"That's what best friends are for," Hermione said, dazed, but not too dazed to finish his sentence. 

"Right. Most people who get married won't even like each other after the honeymoon. But us, we've been friends for more than half our lives. We already _know_ that we like each other. So, what do you say, Herms? It's now or never." 

"Now," she said, without hesitance. What was to think through? She could take this all back in March if it was a bad idea. "D'you… d'you suppose we should seal it with something?" 

"Like with blood?" Ron was quite excited and eager at this prospect, but his hopes were dampened when Hermione scowled. 

"No, with something nicer. Like… a kiss or something." 

"With- with a kiss?" Ron's voice cracked slightly. He certainly had _not_ been expecting that. He licked his lips slightly when he saw Hermione nod, her eyes locked with his, and slowly placed his hand at the lower bit of her neck. _Here goes_, he thought. Their heads moved together and their eyes closed as they came together for their first real kiss, an experience unlike any other. 

**Reviews are now being accepted in the lobby. **


	7. Hands Down

**Author's Note: **I'm going to update more frequently, so you're all aware. I thought of another concept that I want to do, but at this rate, I won't be finished before I turn fifty (which is in… a lot of years), so I'm going to finish soon! I hope. I'd guess maybe six or seven more chapters… hmm. 

_Breathe in for luck._

_Breathe in so deep.___

_This air is blessed, you share with me._

_This night is wild, so calm and dull._

_These hearts, they race, from self control. _

_Your legs are soft, as they graze mine._

_We're doing fine._

_We're doing nothing at all._

_My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me._

_So won't you kill me? So I die happy._

_My heart is yours, to fill or burst, or break or bury._

_Or wear as jewellery. _

_Whichever you prefer._

_Hands down this is the best day I can ever remember._

_Always remember the sound of the stereo. _

_The dim of the soft lights._

_The scent of your hair, that you twirled in your fingers. _

_And the time on the clock when we realized "It's so late!" and this walk that we share together._

_The streets are wet, and the gate was locked, so I jumped it, and let you in. _

_And you stood at the door, with your hands on my waist, and you kissed me like you meant it._

_And I knew…that you meant it. _

-**Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional**

(I skipped the second verse)

**Chapter Six:** Hands Down

They pulled away sharply at the brief touch of their lips, wide-eyed, as if it were their first. The only sound was that of the rain beating down outside, the crackling of the fire, the soft sounds from the stereo, and their deep breathing. 

"Did you feel that?" he asked her when he found his voice. 

"Feel what?" She asked in reply. 

He grinned that roguish, lopsided grin that could melt even the hardest of hearts. "We made a spark." He looked anxiously on for her reply, as if what she would say would make or break him. She almost saw a glimmer of sadness in his eyes when she didn't say anything, but he looked down quickly. Milton, her cat, jumped into her lap, distracting her, and giving Ron the chance to stand and glance at the clock. 

"I'd better get going. It's… erm… getting late. I…erm… haven't had much sleep, you know and… well I have to work tomorrow morning… so… bye, then." He walked to the coat rack, and retrieved his cloak, putting the hood up, and wishing that his job wasn't so high risk. The Ministry put safeguards on Aurors' flats, making it impossible to apparate inside of a certain radius. 

Hermione felt a pang as she watched him leave. "Wait!" she said. "I'll walk you home. I need to get out of the house." 

"You don't have t-"

"I want to." 

She pulled her cloak on quickly and slipped on a pair of trainers, not noticing or caring that she was wearing yesterday's clothes. They stepped outside, and the instant that their feet hit the wet pavement, they were both overjoyed that Ron's apartment was only a few blocks away. They walked in silence, an awkward haze hanging in the air. Neither was saying a word. They did not need to. 

It was Hermione who finally broke the silence, saying, "So how long will you be gone this time?" 

"I'm not sure," he replied. "Maybe a month. Maybe more."

"Wow."

"Yeah." 

"I don't now what I'll do for a month without you here... and by _you_ I also mean Harry and Ginny, and… well, you." 

They stopped at a streetlight, waiting for the few cars to pass, both being pelted with rain. Hermione's cloak didn't have a hood, and she had forgotten to bring her wand in order to make herself waterproof, so there she was, being soaked from head to toe, not caring and wondering whether she had made a huge mistake with Ron. After the kiss, she had seen the look on his face, and felt that empty feeling inside of herself. She wanted to make it better, and to let him know that she really did understand. She really did feel what he felt, but was too afraid to admit it.

Instead of waiting for the light to turn, they waited for a respite from the oncoming traffic and jogged across the street. They were beginning to get cold now. When they arrived at Ron's apartment building, the gate that served as an entrance was locked.

Ron swore as he fumbled around in his pockets for his keys, only to come up empty-handed.

"I forgot my keys," he said. "And my wand."

"How are you going to get inside?" Hermione asked. "You can stay the night at my house, if you- what are you doing?" 

Ron had taken off his cloak and was shaking the gate to test its' stability. He began to climb. Upon reaching the top, he looked down, wondering just how he was going to get out of this situation. He held his breath and jumped, hoping to land on his feet, and hoping that Hermione wouldn't see the pained expression on his face. He turned and opened the gate for her to walk in. 

"D'you want to come in and get dried off or something?" he asked, nearly having to yell over the din of the rain, now storm, about them. She shouted something but he couldn't hear it. She nodded. He always was a visual learner. 

She walked through the gate, and the two of them ran to the front door. It was locked, as he'd expected. He pressed the buzzer of his landlady, hoping that she would be able to hear him. 

"Hello?" asked his landlady, Mrs. McCool. 

"Mrs. McCool? This is Ron Weasley in 11A. I've forgotten my keys and I was wondering of you could buzz me in?" 

"Of course, Ronald. And thank you so much for helping me carry out my garbage the other day. I was just thinking of how I ever would have been able to-"

"Mrs. McCool, it's raining rather hard." 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Have a nice night, Ronald." 

The door unlocked, allowing the two of them to go inside. Ron put one foot inside the doorway when Hermione grabbed his arm, pulling him back out to where she was. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed Ron with everything that she had in her. Gratitude, respect, love, desperation, and even want. 

When they broke apart, her arms were encircling his waist, and his hands were entwined somewhere in her hair. Once more she stood on her toes, but this time, she placed a light kiss on his cheek. 

"Good night," she said. 

She left him on the doorstep, smiling. 

It was October. Her fiancé had cheated on her. She was "engaged" to a man that she didn't love. She had just received a wedding invitation to her ex-fiancé's wedding in May, and yet she had a distinct bounce in her step as she checked up on her patients. 

Ron had come home safely late last night. She hadn't slept a wink until she had received that owl. Of course she and stopped by his flat every day during the three weeks that he had been gone, but it wasn't the same as actually seeing him. She had her now married (and nicely tanned) friends back from their honeymoon. All she needed no was Ron and all the pieces would fall into place. 

She knocked on the door of her next patient's room, smiling at the sound of laughter that floated to her ears. 

"Come in," said a familiar voice. She pushed the door open and was promptly bombarded by a rogue pillow. 

"Hello again, Doctor Granger," Mr. Harrison said the way that he always did. She had come to be so closely connected with this family, that it would almost be strange when they were no longer around. She took in the room. The shiny linoleum floors and the pseudo-calming beige walls were barely visible through the mounds of candy, cards, flowers and gifts; the starched-stiff white sheets were hardly distinguishable beneath the blue and yellow quilt, featuring the players of the Piccadilly Pirates, Joey's favourite team, zooming around. The quilt had been a gift from Hermione. She had become so attached to Joseph in the three and a half weeks that he had been here that she was sure to cry this afternoon when he was discharged from St. Mungo's. 

Two small boys were jumping on the rock-hard mattress. She had come to know both of them very well. One, of course, was Joey, and the other was his best friend, Marcus (Marcus Flint, Jr.). They were jumping up and down, up and down, and Hermione found it hard to keep up with them. Joey noticed her presence in the room, and immediately fell on to the bed, with a look of utter innocence, as if he hadn't been using hospital property as a trampoline at _all_. Marcus followed suit. 

"Guess what, Dr. Herms?" Joey said, very excited. 

"What?"

"I get to go home today! Isn't that cool?"

"It most certainly is. I just came in to say goodbye. I leave work in a few minutes, and I won't see you for awhile," she felt a lump forming in her throat as she thought about saying goodbye to her small charge.

"But you'll see me tomorrow, won't you?" 

"No, you go home tonight." 

"I mean at the Quidditch game. Your seats are right next to ours!" 

Mr. Harrison cleared his throat, stepping into the conversation. "Doctor," he said, "These are for you." He handed her an envelope. "We wanted to say thank you for all that you've done." Hermione opened the envelope and pulled out two tickets to tomorrow's Quidditch match- the Piccadilly Pirates versus none other than the Chudley Cannons. It would be a nice welcome home surprise for Ron. "Now if tomorrow isn't good for you, we can get tickets for another date," Mr. Harrison went on. Hermione looked up with a huge grin on her face.

"No, no, tomorrow is wonderful. Thank you so much, Mr. Harris- Malcolm. My friend Ron and I will enjoy these very much."

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Ron shook the sleep from his eyes, as he struggled to keep his vision from blurring. Who was knocking on his door when they could just apparate in? He then realized that there was no way to apparate into an auror's house, due to all of the Ministry imposed safeguards. He'd have to open the door. 

_Knock. _

He swung his legs around the side of the bed. He had crashed the night before, not bothering to shower, change his clothes, or even get under the covers. Hermione had made his bed so tightly that he doubted that he would have had the strength the previous night to even wrench them free. 

_Knock._

He shakily stood and walked at the rate of a tortoise to open his door. He leaned on the doorframe, and swung the door open, seeing just the person that he expected on the other side. Hermione was standing there, pink-cheeked and grinning sheepishly. He smiled in spite of himself as she wrapped her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over, saying, without words, of course, "I'm so glad that you weren't chewed up, swallowed whole, cursed, blasted into a million pieces, splinched, dismembered, beheaded, boiled, shrunken, poisoned or killed in general." 

She pulled away, but didn't loosen her embrace. As Ron thought, her eyes immediately moved to his left cheek. It was still raw from where he had been cut by a werewolf during a particularly tough scrape. 

"It's fine," he said, diverting the unavoidable doting that he would receive. He backed into his flat. "Come in." She found her way to the kitchen, spewing spells left and right, making tea, biscuits, everything. 

"I'm so glad that you're all right, Ron," she said as he lay down on the couch. "And I know that all you probably want to do right now is sleep, but I have a surprise for you."

At the word _surprise, Ron's ears perked up. He loved surprises. _

"Do you think that you can take a break from all of the paperwork that you'll have to do tomorrow to accompany me on a date?" She asked, emerging from the kitchen with tea. 

"A date? As long as it's not a symposium or a lecture or a poetry reading or... something boring." 

Hermione stared at him for a second, before bristling. "Yes, I suppose you wouldn't be interested. It would be a little too boring for you, now wouldn't it? Of course the Chudley Cannons play their arch rivals almost every day of the season, what would make tomorrow's game any different? Forget I asked, I'll just give the tickets to Harry and Ginny and let you get back to your rest." She stood, retreating back into the kitchen with her teacup. 

"Stop!" Ron commanded. She turned immediately with quite a patronizing smile. 

"Yes, Ron, what is it?" 

"You have tickets to the Pirates-Cannons game tomorrow afternoon?" 

"Yes, but like I said, you certainly wouldn't be interested in accompanying me, so I should just-"

"What time should I pick you up?" 

Hermione was not a Quidditch fan. Even someone who didn't know her could tell that. As the players were out and about before the game, zooming this way and that, Ron was incessantly screaming and she was wonder just what in the name of Merlin was going on. At one point, Ron saw her confusion and sat down, explaining the players and quoting random statistics. 

He laughed, as she furrowed her brow once more in confusion. "If you don't get it _now, and they're just __warming up, I'd hate to see you when the game actually starts."_

She turned and swatted him, but he caught her hand, and brought it to his lips. 

"Hey!" she exclaimed, pulling back as if burnt. "Hands off." 

"We're a couple, right?" He raised an eyebrow at her, causing her to blush. "Besides, you didn't seem to mind the first time." He winked while she was still to stunned to say anything and stood once more, cheering loudly, as the mascots came onto the pitch. 

But it was true… she hadn't. 

"Excuse me! Excuse me, please, that's my seat! Ex_cuse_ me!" 

At the familiar voice, Hermione's head turned, drawing her out of her personal haze, and she smiled again. Joey and his father were making their way to their seats, right next to Hermione and Ron's. Joey plopped down next to Hermione, saying, "Hey there, Dr. Herms!" 

"Hello, Joey; Malcolm," she shook Mr. Harrison's hand, and stood up to join Ron in watching the mascots, dancing, shouting, taunting and laughing. "How soon before the game starts?" she asked Ron, nudging him. 

He grinned. "So you've forgiven me, eh? Wondered how long that would take." He winked at her, and said, "Should start in about fifteen." 

"I'm rather thirsty; would you like me to get you anything?"

Ron dug around in his pocket for some money, and handed her a few sickles. "Could you get me some-"

"Chocolate frogs, I know. Be back in five!" She pushed her way through the crowds of people and down the steps to the outside of the arena where she would be able to buy from the vendors circling the stands. What she really wanted, besides a drink, was a chance to think. Ron shouldn't have been making her stomach do flip-flops. He never did before. At the mention of their previous kiss, she thought that she could have died, right then and there- not because he had brought it up, but because she found herself revelling in the memory of it. Not in the memory of the kiss itself, but of what Ron had said afterward.

"A box of chocolate frogs, please," she asked the witch who was manning the snack booth. "And a bottle of water." She forked over the money and received her change and items. She heard a burst of cheers from the stands, and picked up her pace. Ron would kill her if she missed any of the game. 

She was making her way back to her seat when Joey caught her arm. 

"Dr. Herms," he said, barely above a whisper, "Who's that bloke with you?" 

"That's my friend Ron," she replied. "Why do you ask?" 

"Are you _sure he's just a friend?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. She fought the urge to laugh when she answered his question, saying, "I'm pretty sure." _

"I don't think so," said Joey. "As his fellow man, I can say that no bloke looks at his friend the way he's looking at you now." Hermione's knees nearly gave out on her, considering the person that she was having this ludicrous conversation with was ten years old. However, curiosity kept her standing, wondering just how _exactly Ron was looking at her right now. She moved to take a look when Joey's grip on her arm tightened. "Not. Right. Now. He'll know that you know. Now, turn your head slowly, hand him the chocolate frogs, and give me one." _

As the thousands of fans were leaving the stadium, Hermione was all smiles. She was listening to Ron and Joey debate over the Cannons and the Pirates. 

"True," said Joey, "Wells _is a good Seeker, and they've got lots of other good players, too. _But_ Homer is a _phenomenal_ Seeker! He inspires the rest of his team-mates."_

"I agree with you," said Ron, "However, one player cannot carry a team. Wells may not be as good of a Seeker, but he has better team-mates backing him up. They've all got as much skill in their respective positions." 

"Well… the Pirates are still better."

"No way. Cannons rock all." 

Hermione exchanged a smile with Mr. Harrison, and they each tugged on the arm of their respective child. 

"Thank you so much, again, Malcolm," Hermione said. 

"Definitely, thanks a million!" Ron agreed. "And Joey, you'd better play for Hogwarts next year, or I'll personally come and force you to tryout."

"All right. Bye, Dr. Herms! Bye, Ron!" Joey called as they were walking away. Both Ron and Hermione waved. 

They turned and walked towards town, hoping to grab something for dinner. 

"That was fun," Ron said, draping his arm heavily around Hermione's shoulders. She leaned into him, throwing him off balance and making him laugh. 

"I'm glad you had fun," she said. "Oh, Ron, I meant to ask you- what colour are you wearing to the Halloween banquet?" 

"What?" 

"The Ball. It's in two weeks. We're still going, aren't we?" 

"Oh, right. The ball… yes, we'll go I guess."

"What colour are you wearing?" 

"Blue." 

Hermione smiled broadly. "Blue would be just lovely." 


	8. October All's Fair in Love and Chocolate

**Part Two**

**Chapter Seven: October**

 All's Fair in Love and Chocolate

_"There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered" –Nelson Mandela _

On October 31st, all of the magical world was abuzz. Hermione had discovered what Halloween was like outside of Hogwarts for the first time when she was eighteen, and she loved it. It was much like Christmastime, in a way. People were happy, they greeted one another on the street. They smiled when worried, glad for something new in the day. Little children walked around dressed as skeletons, and (for some of the more creative ones), Muggles. As Hermione left St. Mungo's and apparated to Diagon Alley, she laughed aloud at a young girl, who looked about five, dressed from head-to-toe in Muggle paraphernalia, from the over-large, Elton John sunglasses to the too-big high heels and handbag that looked nearly half of her size. One little boy was dressed as Harry Potter, causing her to laugh even harder, especially when, upon further inspection, she saw that his "scar" looked as if it had been painted on with Mummy's lipstick. Lanterns were magically suspended in the air, and flickered brightly, despite the daylight. Pumpkins even larger than Hagrid's lined the streets, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had been turned into a haunted house, so to speak, and adults and children alike were periodically running while screaming at the top of their lungs. She had to catch her step as a miniature banshee, chased by a small investment banker, ran right in front of her. She laughed to herself, and carried about her business, drawing her suede jacket closer around herself. 

Sometimes she wondered why she had never fully assimilated into the wizarding world. For instance, everyone around her was staring at her queerly, due to her Muggle apparel- blue jeans, a burgundy top, and a knee-length, brown suede jacket. She had tried to dress as normally as possible, but for her, normal had always been the Muggle way. She didn't consider herself "abnormal", per se, but not an average witch. Even Harry could not bring himself to wear robes. He said that it felt like a dress, and Hermione agreed. She hated dresses, and dressing up. She just couldn't wear robes. She was in and out of the Muggle world so much every day, and preferred her Muggle ways sometimes. She had just been raised that way. She often found herself scrubbing her kitchen floor, and would be nearly finished before she would see her wand lying on the counter. She would rack her brain trying to recall the Weasley's phone number, furious that she, Hermione Granger, could not remember a few digits, until it struck her that they didn't have a phone. She even owned a hairdryer, and used it, too! An act that nearly took an hour could be easily completed in a total of 1.2 seconds, and she wasn't taking advantage of it. Ron teased her about it so often, as did Ginny. She couldn't help it; it was second nature. But then again, both Ron and Ginny, who had been born a wizard and a witch, did things the Muggle ways. Ah, well. It wasn't worth fretting over. She would go on being her Muggle-born self and doing things her Muggle-born ways. 

She glanced down at her watch, her Muggle watch, and saw that she had fifteen minutes. Flipping the face open, she beheld her wizard's watch. The hand that read _Ginny in the smallest of letters was still pointing to __Home.  She had time. She walked briskly to Flourish and Blotts, deeply inhaling the scent of new books. No one was in the store, one of the few times that that had ever occurred while she was there. Enjoying the quiet store, she walked up and down the length, taking in the tables and displays, running her fingers over the new bindings on the shelves, smiling as she saw names that she recognized, such as Parvati Patil (_Beauty Tips for Blushing Belles_) and Minerva McGonagall, who had finally published _A Definitive Work on the Art of Transfiguration._ Hermione plucked it off the shelf, and flipped it open to the cover page, where she read: _

_Dedicated to my dear student, colleague, and friend, Hermione Granger, a true Gryffindor, for her hard work, intelligence, encouragement, and brilliance. Her countless hours of reading, research and proofreading made this publication possible, and for that, I am eternally grateful. May your successes outnumber your trials, as they always have, and may your smile never grow dim. _

Hermione had cried the first time that she had read it. The very idea that her favourite and most inspirational teacher would refer to her as a friend was so very touching to her, as it was when she was asked to assist in the project. Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, if you asked Harry or Ron, Hermione had become quite good friends with Professor McGonagall over the years. She had stayed in touch with her mentor after Hogwarts, and had even received a letter of recommendation from her to attend a prestigious medical school and apprenticeship in Greece. She had been asked to assist Professor McGonagall, or Minerva, as she had been instructed to call her, with her book when she was twenty-two, five-no, six- years ago. It had been a long process, with a goal for a seventh-year advanced textbook and a guide to all of those entering transfiguration at the beginning level after schooling at Hogwarts, Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, or any other school of magic. What had come out of it, was a learning experience, a friendship, and a book full of magic far too advanced for any seventh year, or a first year university student. 

She did not know just how long she had stood in Flourish and Blotts, staring at titles, when she heard the bell tinkle, signalling the entrance of another patron. She ignored it, and continued reading the summary of _Albus Dumbledore: A Biography_ by Laurence Le Sabre. She was very tempted to buy it, but then changed her mind after reading Le Sabre's biography on the back flap. She remembered him from Hogwarts, a snivelling Hufflepuff who was whiny, conceited, and spoiled rotten. He was in Ginny's year, as she recalled, and the two girls had often complained about the strange boy stalking Ginny. He was made a prefect in his fifth year, much to Hermione's chagrin, as was Ginny, so the two girls had the blessing of spending their weekly prefect meeting with him. Hermione laughed when she recalled Ron's reaction when he realized that the reason that Le Sabre bloke was following Ginny around was not because they were friends, but because the way that he fancied her was borderline obsession. 

"I know," said a voice from behind her, "Can you believe that _he's_ written a book?" Hermione turned to embrace Ginny, and noticed immediately the change in her. The two women had not seen each other but twice since the Potters had returned from their honeymoon, and Ginny had changed. The two left the shop, Ginny chatting happily about something that Harry had done, and  Hermione was able to discern just what was different about her friend. Married life suited Ginny well. She was practically emitting a visible glow, and if her smile got any larger, her jaw might break. She often gazed lovingly at the second ring on her finger when she thought that Hermione wasn't looking. Harry was mentioned at least twice a minute, in which he said the funniest thing, did the cutest thing, or how he looked at her in just that way… all of this was topped off with a huge sigh. Hermione chuckled to herself for the umpteenth time that day, as she was reminded of something that e.e. cummings once said: _"Lovers alone can wear sunlight"._ If that wasn't a true statement, then Hermione would renounce magic forever. 

"So," said Ginny, as they continued walking towards Madam Malkin's. "Any idea of what you want to wear tonight?" 

"No, nothing," said Hermione, gloomily. "I hate dress robes. I might get light blue ones, like in fourth year- remember those? They were at least tolerable." 

"And Ron couldn't keep his eyes off of you…" Ginny sang, casting a sly look in Hermione's direction. 

"That was also fourteen years ago, and there's no real need to dwell in the past," Hermione replied conclusively. 

"You're no fun." 

"I know. And besides, what do I care if Ron thinks I look attractive?" Hermione asked, instantly regretting it as the colour rose to here cheeks. She kept walking at an even pace, and even snuck a side glance at Ginny. It was when she did that she realized that Ginny had stopped walking a few paces back and was standing with her stubborn Weasley look and her hands on her hips. 

"Hermione Granger," said Ginny, as the two of them walked towards each other, "You have a secret." 

How was she so bloody transparent? She and Ron hadn't told anyone, and the only people who had come close to knowing were Joey and Malcolm Harrison. They didn't really want to publicize things, but Ginny _was_ Ron's sister. Was it that big of a deal? Ginny would make it a big deal, that was for sure. Hermione had been wrestling with the idea of telling Ginny for awhile, now; she could use some advice. But what was she supposed to say, _"By the way, Ginny, your brother and I don't love each other, but in about two years, we're going to get married, have children, and spend the rest of our lives together." No, best to stay cryptic._

"Do I? Come on, let's get to Madam Malkin's before the crowd does." Hermione turned, but Ginny grabbed her elbow, resorting to Hogwarts-like tactics when she said, "We are not moving from this spot until you tell me what is going on, Hermione. I hate secrets, you're bad at keeping them, and I'm going to find out eventually, so you might as well tell me now, unless you want me to hex you." 

"Well, now since I've been threatened with bodily harm…"

"No, really! Tell me, Hermione, please?" 

"You know, you'd never think that you were grown and married, Ginny, the way that you're behaving. Come on, let's go buy our dress robes."

"But-"

"I'll tell you inside," Hermione relented, hoping that Ginny would forget when they began to look at clothes. She had been planning on telling Ginny, yes, just not now. She wanted to wait a little while. She also wanted some advice, and soon. Maybe she would give in, and tell her. They continued walking, Hermione trying to chat amicably, and Ginny too bent on learning Hermione's secret to say anything, lest she forget. They let themselves into the store, bid hello to Madam Malkin, and walked to the back of the store, where there was a staircase leading to the upper levels. The lower floor was professional and everyday wear, whereas, upstairs contained dress robes for all occasions. Hermione wanted to ignore the issue at hand, so she buried herself in a rack of robes, not really looking. 

"Hermione," Ginny began, before Hermione cut her off, quite irritated, saying, "Look, Ginny, I'll tell you when I'm ready, all right?" Ginny, somewhat taken aback, responded by pointing out that Hermione was looking at the men's robes, and the women's were on the other side of the store, causing Hermione's cheeks to warm and turn a few shades of red darker than they had been. 

_"All I really need is love, but a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt!" –Lucy Van Pelt, from Peanuts_ by Charles M. Schulz__

Ron loved Halloween. It was, by far, the best time of the year. Wait, no, second best. Christmas was first. Halloween was sec- no, third. His birthday was the second best time of the year, Halloween pulling in a close third, which was tailed by the Quidditch World Cup, Harry's birthday, and then Hermione's. Or maybe Harry and Hermione's birthdays tied for fifth. No matter, Halloween was the third best time of the year. In fact, he could think of no better way that he would rather be spending Halloween. Who didn't love being cooped up in his office all day, filling paperwork about the last raid that he and Harry had run. However, the silver lining was the view. The maintenance staff was feuding for many reasons: their lack of raise, their change of management, and no one could seem to figure out what the view for the day should be. One minute it would be pouring cats and dogs (literally), the next it would be so bright that Ron would have to close his shades. He was just opening them again when a small knock was heard from his door. All he would have to do was stand a stretch to reach the door handle, considering his office was so jammed and tiny that everything was in arms reach, but whoever was knocking took the liberty of just walking in and throwing himself down in the spare chair, in between the picture of Harry, Hermione and Ron, the wastepaper basket, and the life-sized cut-out of the Chudley Cannons. 

"A perfect example of why you need a bigger office, mate. The Cannons need more room to, you know… be worshipped."

"Bugger off." Ron turned to close the shades again while Harry laughed, and uncomfortably stretched out his legs on to Ron's desk. Ron turned around, pretending to look cross. "Hey, why are you here, anyway? I have some very important paperwork to get done, and you're distracting me. You know how dedicated I am to paperwork." 

Harry rolled his eyes, and said, "Sure, Percy." 

Ron's eyes grew wide. Harry removed his legs from the desk and stood up, picking Ron's cloak up from the back of the chair and chucking it at him. "Get up. We're going out to lunch. I'm sick of the office; we have been here far too long."

"All right," said Ron, disentangling himself from his cloak and standing to follow his best mate to lunch. He inched between the desk and the wall, as Harry left. Making sure that Harry wasn't looking, Ron threw a wink to one of the Chasers from the Cannons, Liberty Katz. She tossed her blonde hair and winked back, still waving as Ron left his office. Ron followed Harry to the elevators, complaining about the lack of office space from the time that they stepped on the elevator, where they were nearly attacked by a few memos, until they heard a cool female voice say, "The Atrium". They stepped out into the cool autumn air, shocked to find no one dressed up for  Halloween, no lanterns, no pumpkins, and no merriment. The shock wore off, as they considered the fact that they were in a Muggle alley. They stepped out to the road, and watched, laughing, as a few lost Muggles were trying to make a phone call from the visitor's entrance to the Ministry. 

Walking briskly to the Leaky Cauldron, Ron listened to Harry talk about Ginny. He tried to appear interested, but this was his sister that they were talking about. Knowing some of those… details… didn't interest him in the slightest. He found it funny, as he had since they had been dating, that Harry was so enthralled with his sister, because, after all, she was just… _Ginny_. What was so interesting about her? And yet, here he was, nodding politely to "Ginny _this_," and "Ginny _that". _

They stepped inside the shabby pub fifteen minutes and three "cute" stories later, taking seats at their usual booth. Pansy Parkinson took their order, and, figuring that she would get no tip anyway, brought them the wrong lunch order three times. When finally the beef Wellington was situated firmly in front of Harry, and the fish and chips had found their way to Ron, they were rid of the horrible beast that was Pansy Parkinson.  

"So, what's on your mind?" Harry asked of Ron after swallowing down a forkful of his lunch. 

Ron, quite confused, stared blankly at his friend. What was on _his _mind? If anything, it should be Harry who wanted to discuss something, Harry who had pulled him out of his office, _not_ the other way around. And yet here he was, face to face with the issue of talking about Hermione and their pseudo-relationship after he had been lured out of his office under the pretences of having a casual lunch, just two friends. He fought the urge to tell Harry this, and replied, instead, with a remark that may have deterred anyone else, "Huh?" 

"Come on," Harry responded, not swayed by Ron's confused look. "Something's on your mind, and _has been ever since Ginny and I got back from our honeymoon. I don't know exactly what's going on, but I think… who is she?" _

"Who is _who? I don't know what you're talking about."_

"Sure you don't. Look, Ron, we're best mates, right? You can trust me; I'd like to think you'd have figured that out by now. So," Harry looked, around, leaned in, and lowered his voice, "do I know her?" 

"There _is no… her!" _

"Well… it's not a… _he… is it?" _

"No. If there were anyone in my life right now, which there definitely isn't, it would be a woman. But there isn't anybody, so we can just drop the whole thing."                  

Harry, looking quite disappointed, went back to his lunch. 

"Besides," Ron continued, "If, and I mean _if_ there was somebody, which there isn't, I would tell you if I wanted to. Which I would. It's not as if I like having things pried out of me under the threat of torture. I like to keep my work and personal life separate, you know? And really, I wouldn't object to a girlfriend at all. In fact, I'd rather like one. The way I figure, all anyone ever really needs in life is love. That and some chocolate."

Harry dropped his fork, and quickly swallowed before allowing his mouth to hang open.

"But then again, if I were really in love, you know, head over heels and all that, I probably wouldn't care if I didn't get any chocolate, because that's what love is. Not chocolate, no, love isn't chocolate, but when you're in love, all of the other things that you thought were important suddenly aren't anymore. Like chocolate. So, yes, I suppose I could do without chocolate if I were in love."

"Liar."

"Hey! I could _so do without chocolate! In fact, I-"_

"No, not about the chocolate you stupid prat! About the love bit. You're in love. It's easy to tell; you've just admitted that you could do without chocolate and I really don't think that you know what you're saying at all."

"I am not in love… I don't think." 

"You've gotten back with Chloe, haven't you?" Harry demanded. "And that's why you won't tell me; you know that I don't think she's good for you. That would make sense. Or is it that reporter girl that you met at the rehearsal? What was her name? Isadora?"

"I think so… yeah, Isadora sounds right. But no, you're wrong on both counts. I can't imagine how you would think that I'm-"

"Harry! Ron!"  

Harry, recognizing the voice immediately, stood to offer his wife his seat. Ginny kissed Ron on the cheek, and sat down, chatting away with him about their Uncle Reginald. Harry fetched another chair for himself and quickly joined the conversation. Ginny informed both of them that Hermione was in the restroom, and would be joining them shortly. 

"We found her the most beautiful dress robes, but of course you don't want to hear about that. So Aunt Mildred said to Uncle Reginald..." and on she went, telling a funny story about Aunt Mildred trying to convince Uncle Reginald to get a toupee, and then, once he was convinced, his eyesight was so bad that he switched his toupee and the Scottish terrier. He had a sleeping dog on his head, a wig on a leash, and was wondering why his neighbours were laughing.  

Hermione approached a few seconds later, and Ron stood to offer his chair. 

"Hello, Ron," Hermione said, almost shyly.

Ron grinned at her, offering a small wink as he pulled out his chair for her. "Hello, Hermione." 

Harry choked on his drink. 

"Where _is she?" Ron demanded, as he paced back and forth the entrance hall of the Ministry building. "The Ball was supposed to start five minutes ago."_

"She'll be here," a very exasperated Ginny assured him. "I know she'll be here." People clad in every colour surrounded them, bustling back and forth, making small talk, bragging, flirting, introducing spouses, and making it very hard for Harry, carrying two champagne flutes, to make it back to where his wife and brother-in-law were waiting.

"Hermione not here yet?" he asked, handing Ginny her champagne. 

"No," Ron replied, much too quickly, "She's not." 

Harry and Ginny exchanged a small glance. 

"Good evening, everyone," said a jolly voice that came from none other than Albus Dumbledore. "How are we all doing this evening? You know, I've always loved parties, but not this sort. I prefer smaller, more intimate gatherings. I remember one time, at a particularly lively New Years celebration my brother, Algernon, danced around wearing nothing but a tea cosy on his head. His poor children. Now where is Miss Granger  this evening?" This question was obviously directed at Ron.

"She's running a bit late, but she should be here soon, sir. She had an emergency call at work. Nothing to worry about," said Ron, as if trying to convince himself as well.  

"Ron," Harry said softly, inching closer to his friend, "Ron, look. Malfoy's talking to Fudge. Being quite chummy, too." 

"Fudge isn't Minister anymore," Ron pointed out.

"But he still holds a lot of political weight. Malfoy needs to grease some wheels; Lucius Malfoy used to have it in good with Fudge. Looks like Draco's trying to do the same."

"Oh, please, let's not discuss it tonight," Ginny begged, entwining her arm with Harry's. "Let's just have fun. You can work tomorrow." 

"Miss Weasley," Professor Dumbledore began, "Excuse me- Mrs. Potter, how is work going for you?" 

"Very well, sir. It's interesting working for your older brothers, but we do have fun. We've just landed the Zonko's deal in Hogsmeade."

"Ah, the joining of two evils. The students will love that. And so will Mr. Filch, I'm sure." The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes betrayed him, as always. The three ex-students laughed. 

"Is that old bas-"

"Ron!"

"-bloke still alive?" 

"Yes, and kicking, although not high. Hogwarts is the same as ever. We are in a bit of a bind, though. Professor McGonagall is discussing her retirement from teaching. She'll still stay at Hogwarts as Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House, but teaching is putting a strain on her. We'll need to find a replacement before the Holidays, I'm afraid." 

"Any prospects?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled once more. "When was Miss Granger supposed to arrive?" 

"She would _love that!" Ginny exclaimed. "To teach at Hogwarts… why I couldn't imagine what she would do! She's talked about it, of course, but is afraid to quit St. Mungo's. You know, she's a Healer, not a Professor."_

"Healing is primarily Transfiguration, Ginny. I think that she would make an excellent addition to the staff. Her work on Minerva's book proves as much."

Ron's head was reeling. Hermione? Teach at Hogwarts? No, that mustn't happen. She would leave him for Hogwarts all year round. She wouldn't be with him for Christmas, or for Valentine's Day, or… St. Patrick's Day. What would happen to their deal? It was all over for them, he knew it. Just when he had started to-

"Ron!" Harry nearly shouted.

"What?" 

"You okay? You were looking pretty weird there."

"Yeah… er… yeah, fine." Ron looked around, and said, "Hey, where'd Dumbledore go?" 

"He left when your eyes glazed over. He's coming back, though; just went to grab a bite." 

But Ron didn't hear him. He didn't hear anything. All of the din of the Ball faded into the background, all of the people seemed to fade away. He only saw one thing: the most beautiful woman that he'd ever seen gliding down the steps. She saw him, and gave a little wave, her smile broadening. As she approached, the soft sound of the red satin of her dress robes swishing seemed to entrance him. He could smell her perfume. Her curls were all swept up, and bounced a little as she walked towards him. 

"Hermione! You look great!" Ginny praised. But apparently, Hermione didn't care what she looked like. Her eyes were locked to Ron's and she didn't even acknowledge Ginny's presence. 

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi," Ron replied. 

Professor Dumbledore approached their small cluster, holding a small plate of desserts. 

He offered, "Chocolate, Ron?" 

"No, thank you." 

**Author's note: Phew! That took forever! I was hoping that you'd forget that AN from a few weeks ago, about updating more frequently. That was before I realized how busy my summer would be. I'm hoping the longevity of the chapter might make up for the lack of updates? Pretty please? **

Hey, what in the name of Jack Handey is Dumbledore's brother's name? I was going to rifle through my books, and then I figured, oh well, someone else has gotta know! Leave it in a review, and… you get a fortune cookie! I love fortune cookies. LOL- anyone ever watched "Teen Girl Squad"?! MSG'd!!!! 

OK, I'm done. Review!


	9. Nothing Better

**Author's Note: **My compliments to all of my reviewers. I love you all more than chocolate! Sorry this one took me so long. Thank you to all eight billion of you who told me that Dumbledore's brother's name is Aberforth. Now he has two brothers, one of which I invented, named Algernon. There ya go.

The title of this chapter was inspired by the song "Nothing Better" by The Postal Service. ****

**Chapter Eight: Nothing Better**

Ron waited in silence as he watched Hermione descending the steps. She approached, greeting everyone warmly, especially Dumbledore, who she had not seen since the wedding. Even as she was speaking, Ron remained entranced. The way she spoke… the way she smiled… the way she looked… the way she smelled. All of these things that he was so familiar with, things that never struck him before suddenly became so enchanting, so charming, and so lovely that even he could not find his voice. 

Hermione turned to him, and said, "I saw Joey today, Ron."

It took a few seconds before Ron processed that she was speaking to him. He cleared his throat. "Y-you did?" Where was water when he needed it?

Smiling, she nodded. "He asked me if I could tell you that the Cannons aren't so bad after all, but the Pirates are going to mutilate them next week."

"Oh, did he?" Ron asked absently. "Hey, Hermione, let's go for a walk." Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd, greeting those he knew as they passed, but not stopping to say more. As a waiter walked by bearing a silver tray and champagne flutes, Ron grabbed two, sloshing some of the liquid onto the sleeves of his dress robes. 

"Ron!" Hermione protested, "Ron! Where are we going? What are we doing? Ron!" They passed dangerously close to the conductor of the string ensemble that was serenading the guests, causing them to fall out of time for a few bars. He pushed his way through the doors, and out into the cold October air. They found themselves standing on a large stone balcony, close enough to trees to touch the highest of branches. Fairy lights were strung about, creating an ambiance of sheer romanticism. The stars were so close that they felt as if they could touch them. They were alone. 

Ron took Hermione's hands- quite a feat while still holding champagne- and sat her down on the stone railing. He set the champagne in between them, stood up and began pacing. He sat down again. Hermione searched his face, quite bewildered, wondering why he had brought her out of the ball so soon. He picked up a champagne flute and drained it in one gulp, stood up, and resumed pacing. 

Hermione heaved a sigh, "Ron-"

But he cut her off. "Hermione… Hermione." He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, as if to speak, thought better of it, and merely said, "Hermione." 

She was torn between laughing softly and being extremely agitated. Not wanting to spoil the delightful humour that she was in from merely being close to Ron, she decided on the former. She loved it when he was flustered, or nervous. His freckles stood out more than usual, and his eyes glinted dangerously. The way he got tongue tied made her heart flutter. Standing up, she went to him, hoping to calm his nerves, and placate him. What she was not expecting was for him to turn right around and kiss her so passionately as to make her go weak at the knees. But that was exactly what he did. 

Unwilling to break the kiss, she pulled back slowly, allowing Ron to keep his hands on her shoulders. She smiled at him, and said, "What was that for?" 

"Hermione," he said, "I have to tell you something, and I don't know how to do it. Promise not to interrupt until I'm finished." 

Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, throat and stomach, all at once. It was quite a strange feeling. _This is it. He's going to do something rash and ruin everything. You see, although Hermione was in love with Ron, whether she realized it or not, she was entirely human. With the human condition comes emotions, such as love, but also fear. She had always said that fear was the anticipation of pain, having no idea how very right she was. She was afraid that Ron would break her heart. She was afraid that she would lose her heart. She was afraid that it would never be hers again. She was afraid of letting go. She was afraid of admitting that she was in love. She was afraid of him. She was afraid of herself. _

"I Promise." 

He took her hands and sat her down again. _If he wants me to sit this must be something big. Please, Ron, no._ She looked down at their hands, interlaced. She loved Ron's hands. Scarred, big, rough. She loved the way that his large hands could engulf her own, small ones. She looked at the freckles, and he thumb moved over his fingers, loving every bit of them. While she was thus engaged, she didn't notice that he pulled one hand away, and was lifting her chin, bringing her eyes to meet his. 

"I think I'm falling in love with you," he said. He was never one to be gallant, and was too nervous to be eloquent. 

"I was afraid that you were going to say that," she replied. 

Ron felt as if he had been attacked with the Cruciatus curse. The silence hung in the air between them like a man who waits before a firing squad, smoking his last cigarette, just waiting for the final blow. Neither trusted themselves to speak first. Neither wanted to. 

It was Hermione who broke the silence first. "Ron, you can't say that to me now." 

He pulled his hands away from her, and crossed his arms abjectly. 

"Please," she continued, "Listen to me, Ron. Please… please don't break my heart." 

"Hermione, I could never-"

"I'm going away, Ron. I won't be staying more than a week."

The silence returned. 

"I was late tonight because I received an urgent owl from Professor McGonagall. We had a long conversation through the fire. She will be retiring as the transfiguration professor, and I'm to take her place. I have to go to Hogwarts within the week." 

"I know," he said. "Dumbledore told us that they wanted you. I thought that maybe I could convince you to stay." 

"I can't stay. I sent my notice to St. Mungo's before I came. I _need _to go, Ron," she said. She ran her hand over his cheek, taking in the warmth of it. "As much as I want to leave, I know that I could make more of a difference at Hogwarts. It's where I'm meant to be. Believe me, Ron; I don't want to leave _you_. Just being with you now is breaking my heart, just telling you this."

"What about all that we've planned?" He asked. "St. Patrick's Day, and all that?"

"Who says that has to change? There are weekends, Hogsmeade days, Christmas… I'm sure I can ask for days off. You can come visit me when you're not working. It can be just like it was, Ron. Even better, in fact. When you come to visit me, it will be like we're at Hogwarts again. Like we- like we have a second chance to do it over- to have what we missed out on. "

"But it won't be."

"Not if you look at it like that. If anything, this could be good for us. A little distance might help us… sort out our feelings. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. We'll cherish the times we're together so much more."

Ron was silent. He took both of Hermione's hands in his own, brought them to his lips, and kissed them. "I don't want to lose you when I've just only found you." 

"You won't lose me," she whispered, a tear falling from her eye. "You won't ever lose me again." She kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing herself closer to him as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his long arms around her waist. The remaining champagne glass toppled over the edge of the balcony, shattering on the ground below, but neither of them heeded it. After some time, they pulled away, refusing to drop the other's gaze. Finally, Ron began to chuckle softly, and dropped his eyes.

"What?" Hermione asked him.

"Fifteen years ago- that would be our third year- was when I first had a crush on you."

"Liar."

"No, really. When I saw how hurt you were that we were fighting about Scabbers and Crookshanks. It's really quite stupid, now that I think of it. I wish Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers. All of that Voldemort business never would have happened, and…"

"Don't think about that, now. It's all done, Ron. No regrets, right? Isn't that what you told me? No regrets."

"I don't regret a thing, Hermione, except not sweeping you off your feet in sixth year, maybe, when I had the opportunity."

Hermione laughed. "Well… we'll be back at Hogwarts sooner than you think. No one stays in Gryffindor common room during Quidditch games. I might just let you sweep me off my feet then."

"As if you had a choice."

It was after Ron's last comment that they realized what an awkward turn their conversation had taken. This was not a road that they had planned on going down for some time. 

Ron cleared his throat. "I'm…er… sorry… about that."

"No, I- me too," Hermione said, lamely, as she stared at her hands. 

"There's… er… there's no way that I can convince you to stay, is there?" he asked, in one last futile attempt to hold on to what had become his most cherished thing in life.

"No…Ron, no. I've given my word. I'll be leaving next Saturday," Hermione said, a tear running down her cheek. "Really, it's for the best."

"I know," said Ron, wiping away her tear. "I know. So what can we do?"

"Make the best of the time that we do have together," Hermione said, hopefully. "And look forward to the future."

Harry and Ginny left Hermione's house at one in the morning. They would spend the next day moving everything from their old flat into their new house- Hermione's house, and Hermione would be en route to Hogwarts by eleven. They had spent all day helping her pack, laughing, crying, remembering. 

Ron didn't leave, though. He spent the night at Hermione's, eating Every Flavour Beans, drinking butterbeer, and kissing her. He loved her kisses; he practically lived on them. It was as if they were formed to each other, their lips built to match perfectly. 

Hermione fell asleep in his arms before he even had the chance to stop talking and notice. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful. He pushed a curly lock out of her eyes, and drank her in with his. 

"I hope our children look like you," he whispered to her. "I hope that they take after you completely. They should be smart, beautiful, selfless. God knows how much I love you, Hermione. I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she whispered back, in her sleep.

**Author's Note: Yes, I understand this was short, and for this, I apologize. My life is crazy, at the moment. If this helps, I'm already half way through the next chapter. It should be done before Thanksgiving! Hurrah! Review, friends, review!**


	10. November Part One

**Author's Note: **Enjoy! I know I said before Thanksgiving, but this was closing weekend of the play, so my life was nonexistent. Anyway, give me a buzz via review!

**Chapter Nine: **November, Part One

_"Lately I've been feeling like you'll never know if you don't mark the way back the further you go._

_Lately I've been feeling like I'm the bright star that fell behind the mountain of feeling you are."_

_            -__Denison__ Witmer, "__Los Angeles__"_

"I just don't know what to do, Professor. What if they don't respect me? Please, don't laugh. You've been Professor here for so long, and they weren't ready for this change, especially in the middle of the term. I have big shoes to fill, and I don't think that you realize-"

"Take a deep breath, Hermione," said Professor McGonagall, setting a tea service on the desk and sitting down opposite Hermione, as they had so many times during Hermione's years at Hogwarts. "You've not been here for more than a week, and haven't even taught your first class yet. The students will need time to get to know you, of course. You have to gain their respect; they'll not freely give it to you."

"That's why you turned yourself into a tabby cat on the first day of school," Hermione said blandly. 

"Well observed."

"Thank you." Hermione sipped her tea silently. "This is odd."

"What is?" McGonagall asked, putting her cup and saucer down.

"This. Me on this side of the desk and you on that side. It was always the other way around."

"It is your desk, now."

"Oh, don't remind me," Hermione moaned. Her glance fell upon a new picture that she had hung on the wall of her office. She was standing in the centre, wearing the finest of dress robes, as it was taken on Harry and Ginny's wedding day. Ron and Harry were standing on either side of her, smiling happily, and waving at the real Hermione, who couldn't help herself from looking at picture Ron. _I wish Ron were here_. 

An hour later, when she walked back to her room, numbly, the thought was still in her head. She arrived in her chamber, and looked around. Boxes were still stacked in piles around the room, none touched, except the boxes marked "Clothing." and "Books." Even so, "Books." was only tampered with so she could furnish her office. The picture that she had hung had been mailed to her earlier that day by Molly Weasley. She couldn't bear to open any of the other, more personal boxes. She was too homesick. 

Most people at Hogwarts who knew her were rather worried. She was very pale, and much thinner; she hadn't been eating. The Great Hall made her think of Harry and Ron, and made her heart ache for them ten times more. The first night that she had been at Hogwarts, dinner had started out fine. She was happy and talkative, until, during a lull in conversation, her glance fell upon the Gryffindor table, specifically at the three seats that had once been the usual occupancies of Harry, Ron and herself. From that instant, she was lost in a sea of memories, drowning in her teenaged tears, floating on her young laughter, and drifting further and further from sea, without a life vest that usually came in the form of an adorable redhead. She hadn't noticed that she was crying until Professor Dumbledore put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she was able to laugh at herself. "Memories," she had muttered, welcoming the chuckles given to her by the Headmaster. Since then, she tried not to eat in the Great Hall, using the excuse of lesson preparations and unpacking. This could not last long, as most all of the staff knew how appallingly sparse her office was. Sometimes, she would walk down to the kitchen to get leftovers from the House Elves, but this reminded her of S.P.E.W, and brought back just as many memories of her best friends than ever. One time, at midnight, she sat in front of the entrance to the kitchen shaking in silent tears, unable to stand to go in. The memories were all too much for her. And as she stood in the doorway of her room, surveying the mess in front of her, she couldn't stop herself from thinking that her life was pitiful. She was able to pack everything into boxes, without any strong emotional attachment to anything in her life, and had for so many years. She used it as a refuge, in a way. Now she was standing, looking at all of the boxes that were her life, and she didn't even know where to begin. She had boxed herself in once more. Boxed herself into memories that she hadn't faced or dealt with in years. She wasn't prepared to feel emotions like this. She knew what was coming, and she dreaded it, but there was no escape now. She had spiralled out of control, building a box higher and stronger around herself. She was just waiting for the lid of the box to close on her, and leave her in total darkness. She didn't want to face that memory, but it was inevitable, unless she could do something about it. The only problem was. She didn't want to.

She was start easy. She opened a box that was labelled "Linens.", pulling from it a set of towels. Hogwarts provided towels, but her fuzzy green ones made her smile. They were the most hideous colour. Ron had helped her pick them out, and he said that it didn't matter what colour they were, as long as they were warm. That they were. Hermione bit the bullet, so to speak, and bought them to make Ron laugh. She laughed now at the memory of it. She walked into her adjacent bathroom and removed the starched white Hogwarts towels, placing her own on the rack and stacking extras in the linen closet. Her own sheets, burgundy flannel, went on the bed, and she threw two extra pillows of her own on to the queen size four-poster. In the trunk at the foot of her bed, she placed and extra blanket. 

Not too hard.

"Bathroom." came next. 

Then "Clothes." 

Next, "Toiletries."

"Books."

"More Books."

"More Books."

"Even More Books."

"Far Too Many Books." 

(The last four had been in Ron's handwriting which smudged as a small tear fell on the black ink.) Slowly, but surely, her chamber began to feel like a home. She made her most comfortable chair full size, instead of the magically shrunken miniature, and, after realizing that the coffee table and loveseat would not both fit in her sitting room area, she shrunk them both a little to make room for an extra bookshelf. 

She took a deep breath as she knelt down before one of the three remaining boxes. She opened it, and removed her grandmother's quilt. She had made it when Hermione was just a little girl, adding a row of new squares every year until Hermione was twenty five, and had intended to save it for her wedding, but she had died three years ago, not having completed the quilt, and left it to her granddaughter in her will. Hermione treasured it more than anything. On it, there were childhood memories- a square of the blanket that Hermione had been wrapped in on the day that she was born, her christening outfit, her Hogwarts robes from first year (with the Gryffindor insignia), a piece of her fourth year dress robes, the dress she wore at her parents' 25th year anniversary, when they renewed their wedding vows and Hermione served as the Maid of Honour when she was twenty three, and various other pieces of material. Embroidered in the centre was "Hermione Louise Granger" with a space for whatever her married name would be. Below it, "Born: September 19th, 1981", "Married: ___________" and "Died: __________". Hermione's mother had one, and she would make one for her granddaughter, Hermione would make one for her granddaughter, Hermione's daughter would make one for her granddaughter, and so on. Her grandmother was buried with her quilt, as was her mother before her, and as far back as anybody could remember, the quilts lined the coffins. It was a morbid thought, but a beautiful one, in a way. 

Crying near hysterically, from missing her grandmother so much in a way that she did not miss even Harry and Ron, she folded up her quilt delicately, and placed it at the foot of her bed, atop the comforter, admiring the small and elegant stitching. Not able to do any more, she curled up on her bed, not bothering to get under the covers but merely wrapping herself in the quilt that had laid folded neatly just a few seconds before, and fell into a deep sleep. 

_He stood, rising to the challenge, and walked forward, the whole school watching from windows above. Ron held his breath. Hermione squeezed his hand. Harry marched forward, ready to do what he was born to do. _

_Then, as if they were having the same thought at the same time, Ron and Hermione both jumped up and screamed in unison, "No!" They rushed forward to stop Harry, both near crying out of desperation. _

_"Harry, you can't do this by yourself!" Hermione cried. "I won't let you! I won't stand idly by while you go off and die! You can't do this by yourself!"_

_"I'm coming with you," said Ron, valiantly. "If you die, then so do I."_

_"And so do I," Hermione put in. _

_Harry had a look of terror and defeat on his face. "Ron," he said, softly, "Hermione, no. Go back with everyone else; you'll be safe there. This is something I have to do. It's my… destiny." _

_"No, Harry," Hermione insisted. _

_"We're in this together," Ron said. "Please, Harry."_

_"I can't let you. You're not safe! No one I love is safe! Go back, you can't come with me," Harry pleaded. "Please. I can't stand it if you die and I live. I can't stand it if we die together. Please… please go back."_

_"We'd rather die that way," said Ron. "Harry, mate…" Ron stopped and searched his face. Then, resignedly, he hugged Harry. "Good luck." He stepped back, and tried not to show the tears in his eyes, but failed. He didn't seem to mind. "You've been a great friend. I can't thank you for-"_

_"Don't," said Harry, cutting him off. "Please don't."  The two of them nodded, saying all that they could in the simple gesture. It was understood, Harry thought. Ron didn't realize, though, that he had given Harry as much as Harry had given him. _

_Hermione understood nothing. _

_"Ron!" she shouted, "Are you just going to let him go?!"_

_"Yes," said Ron, solemnly. "It's what he was born to do." _

_"No! No, I won't let you, Harry, I won't let you!" She was crying freely now. "I love you too much to just let you march off to die like this, Harry! You can't… you… you can't!" _

_Harry hugged her silently, and kissed the top of her head. Backing away slowly, he took her hand and placed it in Ron's. _

_"Bye," he said, and turned, running away to certain doom. Hermione had never cried harder in her life. She had never seen Ron cry like that. The two of them seemed to collapse on the floor, holding each other and crying for their best friend, whom they would never see again. He would never see the end of their seventh year._

"No!" Hermione shouted. "No! No, Harry, don't! Don't kill him! Don't kill him!" Hermione thrashed in her sleep, half awake, and terrified as she dreamt her most horrible memory- the day that Harry went to fight his final duel with Voldemort. She would have continued crying in her sleep until she felt a pair of strong arms on her shoulders, steadying her. 

"Shhh," said the familiar voice, "Shhh, it's all right. It's all going to be all right. Hermione sobbed into Ron's chest, and noticed that she was under the covers with her quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Through blurry eyes, she saw that a pillow was taken from her bed, and her extra blanket was on the loveseat. It was then that she remembered that she was at Hogwarts, not in her seventh year, but as a Professor of Transfiguration, taking the position from Professor McGonagall. It then struck her that Ron was not supposed to be at Hogwarts. He was supposed to be at home.

"What are y-y-you d-d-doing here?" she asked, hiccupping, and still crying.

He laughed softly, making his chest rumble. "I'm here to see you, of course." 

She looked up at him, wiping her tears away impatiently, her curiosity peaked. 

"I go away tomorrow," he explained. "They're sending me off to… well, never mind. The important thing is, I won't be staying past tomorrow evening. I wanted to spend some time with you, but you looked exhausted, so I decided to let you sleep. I ate in the Great Hall. Had an interesting chat with Professor McGonagall, too. She's a bit worried about you; so am I. You haven't been eating, and you look so pale. And now I get woken up by your screaming in your sleep… _what_ is going on?"

Hermione sighed. "It's just… so… I'm so homesick. I miss you, and I miss Harry and Ginny. And I can't stop the memories, Ron. They just keep… keep coming back, and I miss you so much more."

"I'm here now, it'll be all right. I'll just sleep on the couch, and we can say goodbye tomorrow. You go back to sleep. I'll be right here," he said, and he tried to lay her back down. 

"I can't sleep," she protested, "now that I'm already awake. And I'm dreadfully hungry. Let's go to the Three Broomsticks, like old times. I'll just put on a cloak, and we can be off."

Hermione opened her newly furnished armoire and removed her heavy cloak. She noticed that there were no more boxes. Her pictures had been placed around the room, and a hatbox filled with letters was sitting at the bottom of the armoire. She kissed his cheek in lieu of a thank you, and the two of them set off for the Three Broomsticks. 

"I meant to remind you," said Ron over their plate of chips, "That my parents' anniversary party is at the end of the month at Bill and Fleur's. Part of the deal, remember?" He winked at her. She would have attended anyway. 

"Does the family know?" Hermione asked. "Aside from Harry and Ginny, of course."

"Do they know what? That we're… dating… kind of?"

"Yes."

"No, I don't think so. I suppose it's nothing out of the ordinary. They're used to me dating strange women." 

Hermione threw a chip at him. He caught it in his mouth, swallowed, and kissed her, long and hard, so very glad that no one was in the Three Broomsticks this late at night.

**Review. Please! **


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